


dralshy'a ka'ra: brighter stars

by avian_otters46



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Master and Apprentice - Claudia Gray, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Death Watch, F/M, Fix-it Sort of?, Jedi Culture, Mandalorian Culture, Mandalorian Wars, Political Alliances, Slow Burn, but tagged graphic just in case
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:55:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 75,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26038279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avian_otters46/pseuds/avian_otters46
Summary: The wayward Mand'alor returns, and Duchess Satine Kryze answers the call. The Jedi send Master Jinn and Padawan Kenobi into the fray to build trust with the Mandalorians. While Fett works the battlefield, Kryze works the political arena with the two Jedi as her protectors, forming alliances with clans and trying to bring Death Watch to justice so the sector can be at peace. Meanwhile, something is stirring in the Galactic Senate. It is a grueling test for all, but how this seemingly isolated event may change the fate of the galaxy is yet to be seen...[Starts pre-Phantom Menace, not quite sure when it'll end]
Relationships: Jango Fett & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jango Fett & Qui-Gon Jinn, Jango Fett & Satine Kryze, Mandalore & the Jedi, Obi-Wan Kenobi & Qui-Gon Jinn, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Satine Kryze, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added, Qui-Gon Jinn & Satine Kryze, Qui-Gon Jinn/Tahl (minor)
Comments: 130
Kudos: 248





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, thanks for checking this out! This is my first fic I've posted and I'm not sure how good I'll be with updating, but I'll plan on trying to put up at least one chapter each week :)  
> I will try to add in necessary translations in the fic — I found Mando'a on Wookieepedia and mandoa.org and am SO grateful for those sites.
> 
> Kudos and comments are hugely appreciated! Feedback brightens my day

Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn stood quietly, his arms folded across his chest. He was tucked away in the small alcove high up in the Senate, the unofficially designated spot for the Jedi to observe sessions when they chose. Master Yoda and Master Windu were with him today, and the three of them were poised with an easy stillness that masked their intense focus down on the young woman preparing to address the Senate. It was rare for Mandalore to have much of a presence in the Galactic Senate—the pod designated for a Mandalorian senator more of a symbol than something actually in use—which made the lady’s attendance even more a point of interest for the senators. Most of the Republic knew that the _Mando’ade_ largely kept their affairs to themselves; unless, of course, they were attempting to build a Mando empire and invading various other worlds, as had once been their custom in the days of the Old Republic. However, despite the people’s relative secrecy since then, no one in the Galactic Senate was oblivious to the Clan Wars that were wreaking havoc in the Mandalorian sector. After the announcement of Duchess Satine’s impending address to the Senate and prior to the day itself, gossip amongst diplomats tended to include various speculations as to the state of the Mandalorian wars, what faction seemed to be in control, and whether the wars would spread to other parts of the galaxy. To most it seemed a muddled mess, but for the occasional snippets of verified information that made its way to the galaxy’s Core. 

Rumors had also flown about this woman, this Satine Kryze of Kalevala. It was largely agreed upon that she was the scion of a long line of warlords, but there were many differing thoughts as well: some said she was a favorite of the Mandalorians, others claimed she was a despised noble; a beacon of hope and peace, a harbinger of destruction; the lover of a whispered-about returned _Mand’alor_ , the bitter rival of that same _Mand’alor…_ The list went on and on, with little clarity about which ‘fact’ was the truth, if any of them were. Some senators, Qui-Gon knew, had even done extra research into the matter, unable to resist their curiosity about the duchess who was to speak in the Senate.

Now, she stood on the podium with her chin raised and her shoulders back, accompanied by two women who were just behind her on either side. To the duchess’ left was a Twi’lek with deep blue skin and thin metal decals on her lekku. She wore a modest gray jumpsuit layered with a lavender robe, garb befitting that of a diplomatic aide. If Mandalore had a senator, Qui-Gon would have thought that was her position, but it appeared she was some sort of advisor to the duchess—either way, it was clear she was no Senate-issued assistant. Her expression was too hard, her stance too _Mando_ for that. However, she seemed to fit into the setting better than the other companion. 

Off of the duchess’ right shoulder was a lightly armored, sturdily built Human who was perhaps a little over 30 standard years. Her black hair was cropped short with one side shaved and Qui-Gon thought he could see a tattoo on the shaved side. She had no weapons, in accordance with the rules allowing only official Senate Guards or Jedi to be armed on the premises, but she looked lethal nonetheless. No doubt she was a personal bodyguard of the duchess, some Mandalorian warrior sworn to the young woman’s clan. As the three women became the subject of the holoscreen, the Jedi could see the fierceness of her gaze and the way it scanned the Senate amphitheater certainly seemed to indicate field experience. Her eyes focused on the chancellor only for a moment when he began speaking before resuming their inventory. 

The duchess, however, looked steadily forward toward the center of the chamber, cool and poised. Her eyes were an icy blue, keen and perhaps accentuated by the rich teal gown she wore. There were purple details on the gown, edging the square neckline and stitched along with silver to make decorations on the bodice. _All the colors of Clan Kryze_ , Qui-Gon noted. 

On her brow was a circlet made of _beskar_ , the famous Mandalorian iron, that grew thicker towards the middle, where a carefully carved image of a Mythosaur skull resided. Meanwhile, Mandalorian peace lilies were tucked into her updo. Power, might, and tradition, balanced with tranquility, hope, and growth. She was here as an embodiment of a future united Mandalore. Whether that was merely an ideal or a real possibility… the truth was clouded. 

“The Senate is honored to recognize Duchess Satine Kryze of Kalevala from the Mandalorian sector,” said Valorum, the murmurs around the chamber dying down all at once. 

“Thank you, Chancellor Valorum,” she replied with a small bow of her head. She seemed, Qui-Gon mused, to carry a maturity beyond her years. Her ability to present herself in such a dignified manner was likely the product of her upbringing in a prominent family and her education at the Coruscant University, but Qui-Gon knew there was more to it. From all he had heard of her life, there was no way for her to not grow up fast. 

If the duchess was at all unnerved by every eye on the Senate on her, not to mention all those who would be watching the proceedings projected on the holoscreens in public spaces around Coruscant and on the Holonet, she showed no sign. Her eyes remained on the chancellor for a few moments before she surveyed the rest of the Senate, welcoming them all to listen. 

“And thank you, honored members of the Senate. I come to you a stranger from a broken world, whose clan has been driven to near extinction and whose people have suffered enough. I pray that my words today will not be dismissed nor my trust in the Republic’s democratic roots misguided. 

“Mandalore’s true leader—our _Mand’alor—_ has returned to us. After six years of forced absence, _Mand’alor_ Jango Fett will be taking back control and restoring justice to the sector. It was he who sent me to you all today as Mandalore’s newly appointed voice with a message. This message, however, comes with a story.”

A few whispers buzzed around the large chamber but they quickly fizzled out. Master Windu glanced over at Qui-Gon and Master Yoda, an eyebrow raised as he caught their eyes, before they all turned back to the speaker. 

“For those of you who are not caught up with the affairs of my home, or have heard the many rumors or lies about the state of Mandalore, the sector is in the grips of a group of terrorists that call themselves Death Watch. It was this society that murdered my father and brother only a year ago. It was this society that slaughtered _Mand’alor_ Fett’s birth family when he was just a boy and then his adoptive father—our last _Mand’alor,_ Jaster Mereel. It was this society that made hundreds of _Mando’ade_ orphans, of which the _Mand’alor_ and I make only two. It was this society that, in one cowardly stroke, wiped out almost the entire True Mandalorian faction at Galidraan.”

Some deep, stubbornly untrainable part of Qui-Gon curled viciously within him as if it had been stung by that name. _Galidraan_. He could remember his former master’s tight-lipped, haunted expression, the refusal to speak of the mess he had just returned from. He could remember the dark tendrils that clung to the older Jedi after that mission—the ones that Qui-Gon tried to rationalize to himself. He remembered his former master leaving the Order with claims of responsibilities on Serenno, but not fully convincing the man who had been raised by him.

“The tragedy at Galidraan six years ago shows us that Death Watch’s poisoned branches are not satisfied to remain within Mandalore’s boundaries. Rather than do the evil deed themselves, they deceived you and the Jedi. They caused those who are meant to be peacekeepers and ambassadors of justice to become wrongful executioners. In this one horrific event, they butchered honorable Mandalorians, disgraced the Jedi, made a mockery of this Senate, and seized our wounded sector without suffering a scratch. Since then, Death Watch has served only to deepen divides between clans and bring pain to Mandalore’s worlds and those who inhabit them. 

“However, with the return of the rightful _Mand’alor_ , my people have hope. Jango Fett has promised to end this reign of terror and deliver justice upon Death Watch, and believe me when I say he will make good on his word. I am honored to stand beside him as his Prime Minister, the _Jorad’alor_ of our people. Together, we _will_ restore Mandalore’s honor as a sector of integrity. 

“Now that you understand the state of Mandalore, Senators and Representatives, perhaps you will better understand my presence among you today. As the _Mand’alor_ and I begin our campaign against these despots, we wish to express our hopes of becoming stronger future allies with the Republic and its individual worlds. We believe that Mandalore has much to offer the Republic. We also know there are many here who have expressed their desire to aid us, simply to help righteousness prevail—and for that we are grateful. 

“But if you are aiding Death Watch in any way, take heed.”

The atmosphere shift within the chamber was abrupt at her words. Qui-Gon could feel overwhelming shock and trepidation flood through the Living Force, and as he allowed his senses to wade through it all, he found hints of enmity scattered amongst the various senatorial pods. Perhaps it had been there all along and only spiked now at her apparent threat, but perhaps it was only anger at the thought of worlds aiding such an organization. The Force did not grant him such clairvoyance at this moment to parse out the motivations behind the emotions, to the Jedi’s mild vexation. Such information would have been… _instrumental_ to the situation he found himself in. 

“I am a pacifist, and am tired of bloodshed. I hate the thought of prolonging this senseless violence. However, there cannot be any real peace while injustice thrives. Thus, it is our duty to confront it head-on and defeat it. If you are providing assistance to Death Watch, consider this your final warning to cut your ties—your first, second, and all the subsequent warnings were the acts of murder and oppression that they commit every day. Should you continue to work with Death Watch, _we will know_. You will be judged for your crimes; do not think you can escape this. We will hold you accountable to not only uphold the foundational ethics of the Republic, but the humanitarian morals we must share as living beings in this galaxy.” 

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

In the main streets of Coruscant the Force was pulsing like starbursts, echoing the raucous merriment of the crowds and performers. It bounced along with the children weaving through stands and parades, along with the dancing feet of those in the larger squares. Scattered throughout the general tapestry of the celebrations were individual lights that Jedi Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi recognized as fellow Jedi—some younglings chaperoned by their creche masters, padawans in small clumps like his own, even some knights and masters were likely out there. His spirit soared with the vitality of the Force as he ran down the Temple steps alongside his friends. 

“Do you think that Devaronian circus group will be back this year?” asked Bant. Her salmon-colored skin was even more rosy than usual, the excitement in the Force only heightening her own elation. 

“They’ve _got_ to be—they were the highlight last year,” said Quinlan. “I bet Fisto would know.”

“Well, I don’t see _Master_ Fisto, so I think we may be on our own in figuring that one out,” Luminara said pointedly, although she didn’t even attempt to sound or appear stern with her reminder of the recently-knighted Jedi's title. 

After so much time being cooped up in classes or on missions with their masters, the four teens were practically giddy with their current freedom. All padawans on Coruscant had been relieved of their duties so that they could enjoy Republic Day, and while some had decided to stay in the Temple to observe the holiday with quiet contemplation, most had eagerly taken to the city to partake in the festivities. Obi-Wan felt a slight pang for their friends who were off-world—Siri was with her master on Eriadu dealing with a minor (and seemingly rather dry) political dispute, Garen was helping transport supplies to a series of Mid- and Outer-Rim planets suffering droughts, and Darsha was on Illum to replace her lightsaber. No doubt they would love to be here right now. 

They were seeking the good of the galaxy and deepening their knowledge as Jedi, which of course was what they _all_ were to be doing, and yet Obi-Wan felt there was something to be said for the occasional break from the stereotypical Jedi tasks. Perhaps it was his Master’s teachings of “being in the moment” and “immersing oneself in the Living Force” finally sinking in, or maybe it was just his realization that he wasn’t a youngling anymore. These moments of frivolity were becoming increasingly more fleeting and would only continue on that trajectory as his responsibilities grew. However, it didn’t upset him to know this. He was beyond content in his life; the Force reminded him every day he was on the right path, and he _trusted_ the Force. It was the radiant warmth deep in his chest that he knew would guide him unerringly. These moments of joy could be treasured as they appeared and in hindsight, and in the course of his life he hoped that he could help to ensure such moments for others. That was what it meant to be a servant of the Light Side of the Force. It meant recognizing the good in the galaxy and helping others to see and feel it as well.

Even as he allowed the high spirits of his friends and the city buoy him, he could sense something ahead of him in the Force. It was reaching out for him as a blurred trail—a challenge ahead, maybe a forked road, unclear if it was for good or for ill. Obi-Wan gently pushed it from his mind for now. He was among the few upon whom the Force bestowed glimpses into the future, although he knew his prescience was not quite as strong or tangible as it was for others, like Master Sifo-Dyas. It was useful, but there were times he almost wished he didn’t have this ability. 

“Mmmm I think I’ve found where we should go,” Luminara’s chin was tipped upward as she sniffed at the air, a blissful smile on her face. 

“Roasted Chando peppers,” grinned Bant. She pointed out a vendor’s stand where a sweetly savory aroma wafted from the skillet on the travel stove. The four padawans found themselves gravitating towards it, the first of their pit stops decided upon. 

* * *

High above the public celebrations in a Core world senator’s lavish apartments, a large party consisting of well-known officials was in full swing. Fireworks could be seen exploding in the night sky through the large floor-to-ceiling windows, and as attendees milled around and spilled out through the open doors to the balcony, sounds from the fireworks and the streets below occasionally made their way up into the hall. However, the rooms themselves were filled with the din of conversation and music, effectively drowning out most of the outside noise. Mace Windu slipped into the reception hall relatively unnoticed, but for a few politicians and other dignitaries who gave him courteous nods as he passed them. Everyone was engaged in conversation and many had drinks in hand. The Jedi scanned the room until he got sight of his target, who was speaking with Senator Palpatine of Naboo and a few others who were blocked from view. 

Young Satine Kryze stood in the midst of the cluster, gingerly holding a flute filled with some kind of faintly red drink in one hand while the other hand loosely supported her elbow across her body. A polite smile was on the duchess’ face and it was accompanied every once in a while by a faint laugh. She was the image of ease and dignified comfort. However, Mace’s practiced eye saw what he knew that most could not. For all her appearances of charm and disarmament, she stood differently than most of the others in the room. He could tell that her feet were planted beneath her gown’s coverage in a basic fighter’s stance, and a tenseness in the Force radiated from her core. It all suggested she was on guard, ready to act if something happened. _Interesting._

To the duchess’ left stood her aide, and it seemed her bodyguard was not present for the evening. Sei Taria, the chancellor’s aide, was also among them and noticed the Jedi making his way over. She smiled and beckoned to him. 

“Master Windu,” she said warmly once he joined the group, “we are so glad you could join us. Duchess Satine, I do not believe you have yet met Jedi Master Mace Windu?”

The duchess’ piercing blue eyes met his, and her brows raised ever so slightly. Her long silver earrings swung and winked in the light after the movement of turning to face him. Mace took her extended hand and bowed.

“ _The_ Master Windu? I have heard quite a bit about you. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” she said once he had straightened. 

“The pleasure is mine, your Grace,” he replied. “It seems both of our reputations have preceded us. The Jedi Council is quite impressed with your efforts.”

“That is a true honor, Master Jedi.”

Mace noted the sincerity in her voice, and the way her free hand pressed lightly to her chest. It seemed the Council’s original assessment of the duchess was proving to be accurate. 

“You speak as though you have done your research on the Jedi, Duchess,” said Senator Palpatine with a laugh. 

“I am not sure I would go so far as to say that,” the duchess responded, perhaps a bit wryly, turning her attention to the other members of their small group. “But I did learn some while at the University. We had one Jedi Master come and teach a few classes here and there, as well as run a brief course in basic self-defense—a Master Koth, I believe.”

It had indeed been Eeth Koth. Mace remembered when the Council first heard that the Mandalorian duchess was to speak in the Senate and they had received a direct note from Kryze’s aide with a request from the duchess to meet with them. In the discussion that ensued, Koth had mentioned having the duchess as a student. 

_“Very bright, and easily the best in the self-defense class. After seeing her combat skill there were no doubts that she is Mandalorian through and through. Even if she does have strong pacifist ideals.”_

The duchess seemed on the thin side, though Mace certainly wouldn’t describe her as fragile. No doubt her presentation was useful in being deceptive, making her seem an easier target than she was in reality. 

“Ah yes,” said Palpatine with an easy smile. “Those must have been entertaining classes.”

“They were indeed. I was grateful to Master Koth for sharing his time and wisdom,” agreed the duchess. “I believe it is important to make an effort to learn about those who are entwined with Mandalore’s history, and it was enriching to gain a greater understanding of the Jedi.” She cast her gaze upon Mace again and gave a slight nod. “I have great respect for your people, Master Jedi.”

A younger official, some stray aide or intern perhaps, spoke up after a moment. “I had been under the impression that the Mandalorians despised the Jedi. What with the ancient tradition of warring between the two, I mean. And that business with Galidraan."

A surreptitious glance at the duchess told Mace all he needed to know. Judging by the minute smirk on her face as she took a sip of her drink, she too had noticed the hint of pride in the young man’s voice and guessed at his efforts to seem knowledgeable. Mace suspected that the aide wanted to impress the senators, but especially gain the attention of the rather pretty Mandalorian leader. The emotions swirling through the Force seemed to support his hunch. 

“The key word there is _ancient_ , mister…?”

“Jamin Novak,” the aide supplied quickly. 

“…. mister Novak,” said the duchess with a gracious smile. Her expression then became more somber. “As to the tragedy of Galidraan, I admit that there are some _Mando’ade_ who blame the Jedi. If you recall, however, the fault truly lies with Death Watch. Death Watch may hate the Jedi, and others may still distrust them, but there are those of us who believe in fostering a better relationship with our past enemies.”

Novak nodded, apparently struggling to come up with an intelligent response to her corrections. Mace could feel his thoughts twisting in the Force and suppressed a smile. 

“Are you and _Mand’alor_ Fett seeking to officially join the Republic, then?” asked Senator Onaconda Farr of Rodia. 

“Not quite. We certainly are open to more fruitful communication and trade with the rest of the galaxy, but we will maintain our independence. We wish to preserve our right to self-determination and avoid Republic intervention, particularly as we work to bring an end to Death Watch. It would not do to bring in off-world forces to fix an internal affair.”

“You and your _Mand'alor_ have an admirable goal, to be sure,” said Palpatine silkily, mild worry lining his face. “But a challenging one, when considering the long history of conflict in Mandalore. This is hardly the first time your people have found themselves in this type of distressing situation.” 

The Jedi was, in a rare moment, surprised when he felt a small jolt of anger in the Force coming from the duchess. Her fingers tightened their grasp on her glass ever so slightly, but her face was a mask. She wore the smile of a diplomat and took another sip of her drink before answering. 

“I appreciate your concern, Senator Palpatine. I can, however, assure you that it is perfectly attainable. We have learned from our past and are confident that our efforts for justice and peace will be successful.”

“You are quite ambitious, Duchess. I am sure your people will be grateful when you are on the throne. We all look forward to your leadership, and hope it will come about,” said Palpatine. 

Duchess Satine tensed again, but no one seemed to notice besides Mace. He knew about politics to recognize there was a possibility of an underhanded statement veiled by the senator’s compliments, despite his kindness. Perhaps he, like some others, was doubtful of the duchess’ survival on her path to securing for herself the role to which she had been assigned. Palpatine was also perhaps cynical of the duchess’ idealism, and the fact that little was known about Jango Fett other than his warrior past and the general hearsay—all of which were points of concern for several Council members as well. Creating harmony in a sector known for its discord seemed all but impossible. _But if Master Yoda thinks this is a mission worth taking…_

“Well, it will be _Mand’alor_ Fett who has the throne, Senator,” the duchess corrected in a pleasant tone. “But I shall be the liaison between the _Mand’alor_ and the people, if I am officially re-elected after we secure Mandalore and have been able to assure voting rights to all members of the sector.”

“Are you not the prime minister then?” asked Sei Taria, a puzzled expression on her face. 

“I am, for now at least. Death Watch has made it very difficult to allow for fair elections, however, so there is no way to tell if the majority of the sector truly believes I _am_ the best candidate. Once we can ensure a fair election, I plan to make sure one is held.”

“That is quite democractic of you, Duchess,” remarked Senator Farr.

The conversation continued and Mace allowed it to wash over him in the Force. In a room full of politicians, insincerities clung in the air along with more genuine sentiments. Shatterpoints were everywhere—social pressure points that could be used or bolstered, tentative alliances that could make or break worlds. He let them hang in his mind, then released them back into the Force, leaving just the ones surrounding the duchess to remain for the time being. Those, he poured his focus into. The Jedi could feel her loyalty to her people stronger than all else, and a fierce determination. There was great potential for creation or destruction when it came to Mandalore, and he could feel that no small amount of its future depended on the young woman in front of him. Her beliefs, like those of any being, could be manipulated and misused; she could become jaded and cynical, utterly unyielding. Yet, Mace could sense that was unlikely. Given support, the duchess and her dreams could not only survive but be allowed to thrive and take all of Mandalore with them. 

There was hope, indeed, and the Jedi had been given a rare opportunity. If they played their cards wisely, if they were careful, if the Force was with them, then perhaps… 

He caught the eye of the Mandalorian aide, and gestured for her to step aside from the group with him. 

“Master Jedi?” Her voice was deep and accented, but not quite the accent owned by most of her fellow Twi'leks.

“You are Ennan Motira, correct?”

“I am. I take it you received my message from before?”

“Indeed. If she is still free tomorrow at 1100 hours, the Jedi Council will see her in our chambers.”

“We will see you then, Master Jedi.” Motira dipped her head.

“A knight will meet you at the Temple entrance to guide you up. Thank you.”

She nodded again with a smile, and turned back to rejoin the group. Senator Palpatine looked over with mild curiosity on his face. 

“I hope you are not leaving us so soon, Master Windu?”

“There are some celebrations at the Temple I agreed to attend, so I must excuse myself. I hope you will all forgive me,” he said, spreading his arms to make it clear he was speaking to everyone in their small cluster. 

The diplomats all made polite farewells and the obligatory surface-level pleas that he stay “just a little longer.” He appreciated the gesture, much as little social performances like those had the tendency to grate on him. The duchess, however, had placed her hand over her heart again and expressed how it was an honor to meet him. Such an action, which he suspected was a traditional Mandalorian sign of respect, had authentic feeling behind it and he could sense it was more than just a show. 

“It was an honor to meet you, as well, Duchess.” Mace bowed, turned with a light flutter of his robes, and strode calmly out of the room. 

Now, all that was left was the evening activities with the crechelings before bed. He couldn’t help but crack a smile as he made his descent from the apartments and drew slowly nearer to the Temple. 

***

His home was alight in the Force with the feverish excitement of younglings, and though he tried to school his face into the stern and serene expression he was known for, he knew it was a useless attempt. He would be grinning along with the rest of the masters soon enough as they all partook in the antics of their children. This was home, and Light, and peace. The Force whispered it was a thing to be cherished, and Master Windu gladly obeyed. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting close to the end of the lead-in of it all... thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Despite usually being a morning person, waking up after an evening of celebrating presented a rather nasty challenge for Obi-Wan. Sunlight filtered into his room and it took a few groggy blinks to clear the blurriness from his eyes. He stifled a groan. What in the _blazes_ were they thinking when they let Quinlan convince them to stay out longer last night? There was a faint aching pressure in his skull, and he winced as he remembered that he drank very little water last night. He needed to rectify that. _And,_ he thought as he dragged himself out of bed, _see about some caf and breakfast._

Qui-Gon was in the kitchen area of their shared quarters sipping at his caf and reading something on his datapad. He looked up with Obi-Wan, and a small, knowing smile appeared on his face. 

“Overindulged in the revelries last night?”

Obi-Wan only grimaced in response as he grabbed a mug and poured himself some caf. He felt his master’s eyes lingering on him along with an inexplicable tension coming from him across their Force bond. It was as if he was hesitating, but Obi-Wan couldn’t place why. Qui-Gon rarely held back. 

“Master?”

Qui-Gon seemed to deflate ever so slightly. “I must confess, Padawan, that I perhaps kept this longer from you than I ought to have.” 

Obi-Wan’s blood froze. This was just like a year ago, around the time of their mission to Pijal, when he found out that Qui-Gon was considering a spot on the Council and handing him off to a different master. He thought they’d learned to trust one another better since then, but if his master was withholding information again—

“It’s not what you think,” Qui-Gon said firmly, interrupting his padawan’s spiraling thought process. “The Council is planning to send us on a mission to Mandalore soon. I did not wish to interrupt your studies until I had more certainty, but the Living Force has been making it ever more clear that we must go.”

The padawan simply stared at him. His mind still was in a bit of a fog, not moving as quickly as it usually did, but _Mandalore?_ He knew there had been increased talk about the sector lately in the political world, and he also knew that Jedi had a complicated and downright bloody history with the Mandalorians. Why the Force would see it fit to bring the Jedi back into a mess like that was beyond him. However, a small part of him relaxed at the reassurance that he and Qui-Gon were still _okay,_ still on the track of growing an increasingly stronger relationship as master and apprentice.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Certain events have transpired that lead us to believe that we have an opportunity to make reparations for past errors and build a beneficial relationship between the people of Mandalore and the Jedi, as well as the rest of the galaxy. The Council and I will be meeting with Mandalore’s new prime minister, Duchess Satine Kryze, later this morning. I would have you join us if you were not in classes during that time, but instead, I will ask you to find what you can about the sector in the Archives after your classes have finished today,” said Qui-Gon. 

Speaking of class… Obi-Wan glanced at the chrono and nearly dropped his mug. His Advanced Galactic Economics course was observing a meeting between the Banking Clan and senators from some prominent Core worlds this morning in the Senate Building, and he had to be there in under a quarter of an hour. No time to walk—he’d have to catch a taxi speeder. 

“Go.” Qui-Gon smiled, sensing Obi-Wan’s spike of anxiety. “You don’t want to be late. I’ll find you in the Archives later.”

“Thank you, Master,” said Obi-Wan as he hurriedly grabbed a ration bar and ran back to his room to pull on his robes and make himself look presentable. 

Bant and Luminara were already there, no doubt. Obi-Wan was usually early to his courses and those two were even more diligent than he was, but he still sent a com to all three of them—Bant, Luminara, and Quinlan—just in case. 

***

Sure enough, Quinlan was the only one still in the Temple dormitories. He agreed to meet Obi-Wan outside so they could split the speeder fare, much to Obi-Wan’s relief. Thankfully, Quinlan wasn’t far behind Obi-Wan, either. Quinlan was just nearing his friend as Obi-Wan flagged down a speeder, and the two were able to jump in without a hitch and with more than enough time to get to the Senate. 

“How you feeling this morning, Kenobi?” asked Quinlan with a smirk. 

“I’m _fine_ , just a bit tired. You?”

“Oh I feel great,” Quinlan stretched his arms back over the edge of the seat. “That new jogan fruit ale we tried was excellent. We’ll have to see if we can find the taphouse that makes it.”

“It was good,” admitted Obi-Wan. “But—”

His friend groaned and rubbed a hand over the yellow stripe on his face. “No reprimands this morning, please? I’m sure we’ll get enough of a lecture on ‘healthy habits’ from Bant. Besides, we’re eighteen, Obi-Wan. We didn’t break any rules, and just ‘cause we’re Jedi doesn’t mean we can’t let loose once in a while.”

“I know,” Obi-Wan sighed. 

They lapsed into silence and watched the morning cityscape flash by. Streamers and lanterns still littered the streets after the previous night, the occasional droid visible cleaning up the detritus. Based on the absence of the usual crowds, most people had decided to rise later today. The Force felt sleepy and full of muted contentment, the haziness from the populace’s presence bleeding into it. Obi-Wan tried not to let it affect him and drag his mind back to its earlier bleary state. He was grateful when they neared the Senate and he began to pick up the sharp, buzzing energy of the politicians in the Force, gently prodding his senses to awaken. 

“This is us, Quin.” He nudged the Kiffar padawan next to him, who had his eyes closed and his head tilted back to soak in the morning sun. Quinlan cracked his eyes open and grumbled something under his breath, but got to his feet nonetheless, shoving his share of the payment into Obi-Wan’s hands. 

While Quinlan began trudging toward the building, Obi-Wan went around to the driver to pay. The exchange was brief, the driver looking as though he, too, perhaps was recovering from the night before, and Obi-Wan got the sense he was impatient to go. _Probably needs some caf._ Obi-Wan had just made it back past the front of the speeder and was making to follow his fellow padawan when something caught his eye. A small group of cloaked dignitaries were hurrying forward from the Senate apartments, heading in the direction of the speeder. Taxi speeders were usually in high demand _and_ supply here, but the day after a holiday always rendered the supply a bit more scarce, and that certainly seemed to be the case today. 

“Wait!” Obi-Wan turned and threw his hand up to signal to the driver, who had just been adjusting the controls to depart. The driver shot him a sour expression, then allowed his gaze to follow the direction of Obi-Wan’s arm as he pointed out the group, before slumping back into his seat to wait. The corner of the padawan’s lips quirked upward as he pivoted back and took a few running steps to catch up with Quinlan. 

As he neared the diplomats, a pretty blonde Human woman and two hooded companions, he caught a faint sense of a glistening presence in the Force. The young woman’s blue eyes met his own for half a moment before flicking back to the companion on her right, who appeared to be a Twi’lek. A few strands of her hair fell loose from its haircomb and caught the sunlight, casting a golden tint that mirrored the brief aura he had felt. Obi-Wan found himself almost entranced by the image for a moment, but then shook it off. Much as his master had taught him to enjoy the fleeting small instances of beauty the Force provided throughout the galaxy, he didn’t have the time to contemplate it like he would while meditating among the rare flowers in the Room of a Thousand Fountains in the Temple. He had places to be, and as his master had _also_ taught him, he needed to be rooted in the present. 

When the figures passed by, they nodded to him and offered quick “thank-yous” before continuing with their own murmured conversation in some foreign language he did not recognize. He bowed in return, then took the last few steps to his friend. 

“Very gallant,” Quinlan said as he rolled his eyes. 

“Just doing what we’re supposed to do,” countered Obi-Wan. “Now come on, let’s go.”

With that, they bounded up the steps of the Senate, into the hubbub of politics. 

* * *

As Qui-Gon made his way down the hall after the meeting with the duchess, he contemplated what it all meant. The meeting had gone well—Duchess Satine had, albeit not necessarily _enthusiastically_ , agreed that it was not a bad idea to have Jedi accompaniment on her return journey to Mandalore. Her bodyguard and aide, both of whom were members of a clan strongly allied with her own, were surprisingly in accordance with the Jedi as well. Their clan leader, Ruusaan Ordo, who was as it turned out also essentially the duchess’ acting guardian after she was left orphaned, had apparently hoped that the Jedi would seek to redeem themselves in the eyes of Mandalore by offering extra protection of the duchess. It was hard to discern how the duchess really felt about everything, and Qui-Gon himself wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about it, but he trusted that it was the will of the Living Force. As the Living Force guided, Qui-Gon would follow. 

But there were other matters swirling in his mind as well. Part of him wanted to reach out and contact his old master, for surely he would have some wisdom to share. At the same time, though, something in his mind softly told him not to. Not now. 

Qui-Gon sensed a familiar presence and realized he was no longer alone in the hallway. 

“Thinking of your former master, you are.” 

Yoda’s words presented a statement, not a question. With all the talk about Mandalore, it was inevitable that Qui-Gon’s thoughts would drift to Dooku. The only thing that Qui-Gon had ever known to leave the stoic and aloof man shaken was his experiences with that very sector. At least, during his time as a Jedi. Qui-Gon was not sure what Dooku’s life had consisted of since his departure from the Order, but he did not worry. He knew his old master was somewhere on Serreno ensconcing himself in the Living Force just as he always had. Even from this distance, from the Core to the Outer Rim, Qui-Gon was sure he could feel hints of Dooku. The Living Force breathed that all was stable, and that was enough for him.

“I am,” Qui-Gon admitted easily. “It seems that the Force has a purpose in bringing members of your lineage into Mandalorian affairs, Master Yoda.”

“Hidden from us, the purpose of my last padawan’s mission on Galidraan is. A tool of the Dark Side, deception is, and deceived, Dooku was. Bring balance to the Force in the Mandalore sector, perhaps your mission is,” said Yoda. 

That seemed plausible. And yet… he felt that it wasn’t the whole story. There was a piece missing from the puzzle. Nonetheless, it was not worth trying to parse it all out with Yoda at this moment. He knew what he needed to do. 

“I believe you are correct, Master,” said Qui-Gon with a bow. “If you’ll excuse me, I must continue to work on my preparations and see to my padawan.”

“May the Force be with you.” Yoda nodded to him. Qui-Gon could feel the grand master’s eyes on him as he departed in the direction of the Archives, but he did not turn back. Ahead of him was information that was tantalizingly just out of reach, and two bursts of light in the Force that called to him like the kyber crystal at the heart of his lightsaber. 

***

It didn’t take long for the tall Jedi master to find one of the two people he sought. She was at a display arranging some artifacts from an ancient Jedi temple on Arkinnea, working efficiently yet carefully, in that precise manner Qui-Gon knew so well. He frowned slightly as he approached her; Tahl looked, and in the Force _felt_ , worn. Her stamina wasn’t what it used to be, before her close call with death during a solo mission three years ago, but she hadn’t flagged in her work for a moment. If he didn’t think she would bite his head off or work even harder just to prove a point, he would try to convince her to rest.

“I _know_ your shields aren’t this bad, Qui,” she said with a brow raised. She couldn’t see his face anymore, not after she had been blinded during the Melida/Daan conflict, but he knew she didn’t need to. The widening of her grin when a faint blush spread across his face was proof of her keen attunement to the Force. And to him. “Something’s on your mind. What is it?”

She reached out and gently grasped his forearm, stepping closer as her expression knit in concern. This close, Qui-Gon could just make out the stripes of her eyes beyond their cloudiness. Almost unconsciously, he covered her hand with his own, finding some comfort in the familiar feel of her warm skin. 

“You’ve heard where Obi-Wan and I are going?” he said quietly. 

“Of course.”

“I think that the Force is strong in this moment, in this destination.” His brow furrowed. “I know that this is its will. But I sense that it is more complicated than a typical mission—like the Force is trying to _say_ something by sending Obi-Wan and I to the place where my master led the charge to destruction, and had part of himself destroyed in the process.”

Tahl sighed and stepped back slightly, crossing her arms across her chest. “You want to look at the Force prophecies, don’t you. Has anyone ever told you that maybe you have a penchant for taking things and creating meanings that aren’t really there?”

“I do want to look at the prophecies,” he conceded. “I want to see if there’s anything there relating to Mandalore. And there _is_ something there, Tahl, it’s almost in my grasp—”

She pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him immediately. “There is _always_ meaning in the Force, Qui-Gon. What I’m saying is, maybe you’re wanting it to be deeper than it is. Just because you want to interpret it as an act of redemption for your lineage or something doesn’t mean you have to find an ancient Force prophecy to prove it. Sometimes you can let things be what they are without forcing any meaning into it.”

He bowed his head. She was right, of course. Wasn’t he always telling his padawan to simply trust the Living Force? He, too, needed to trust the Living Force without having to puzzle out all of its secrets. 

“Maybe the answers will come to you later, and maybe they won’t. That’s what it means to have faith,” Tahl reminded him quietly as she let her hands fall gently to her side. He caught one of them and squeezed it discreetly, not that he worried about anyone seeing. It was innocuous enough, and no one was close enough to see their clasped hands hidden in the folds of robes. 

Finally, Qui-Gon let out a low chuckle. “You are far more patient with me than I deserve.”

“Well, you’ve put up with my quirks, too, and haven’t complained,” she grinned. “I’ll let you look at the prophecies, but I can’t promise you’ll find much of use. And if you’re looking for Obi-Wan, he’s in the Third Hall.”

“Thank you,” he gave her a small smile, then caught her arm as she started to turn back to her work. “We leave in two days—is this the last I’ll see of you before we go?”

She faced him, the glowing warmth of her presence brushing against his own once again. “I’ll come by tomorrow night, and I’ll bring Bant. She’ll want to say goodbye, too.”

***

“So, it’s official?” asked Obi-Wan as Qui-Gon approached him. The Jedi master couldn’t help but smile at his padawan’s relaxed, yet almost resigned, manner. 

“Indeed. We will be escorting the duchess back to Mandalore the day after tomorrow, and must be prepared to stay longer as protection if asked. I expect we will not fully understand the situation until we are actually there.”

“Anything I should know?”

Qui-Gon took a seat next to Obi-Wan, gazing at the Archives' personal holoscreen that the padawan was using but not really seeing what was there. His expression grew thoughtful, and his hand automatically went up to stroke at his chin before he spoke. “I believe that there is more at play in the present situation than we may suspect. The Force prophecies make no direct reference to Mandalore, but there are a few more vague prophecies that could perhaps be relevant. We must be on our guard and trust the Living Force to reveal what hides underneath the surface.”

He could feel Obi-Wan’s eyes watching him steadily. The young man’s Force presence churned as he worked through this new information, and there was a brief sense of frustration that was quickly stifled by Obi-Wan’s shields. Qui-Gon knew that his padawan was used to these sort of musings, and often mildly irritated by them. 

“In other words, not terribly different than our other missions,” surmised Obi-Wan. “What about the duchess? I found a transcript of her speech in the Senate from the other day, and it seems as though it was well-done. There's not much else available about her beyond a short bio. She doesn’t strike you as being another Princess Fanry, though, does she?”

Qui-Gon smiled ruefully as he remembered the Pijali princess who had tricked them while they were on a mission to help her. He could understand his padawan’s trepidation after that experience, particularly as it had involved someone tampering with his lightsaber. On one hand, Qui-Gon felt it was probably a good thing that that mission had led Obi-Wan to approach politicians and nobility with some level of distrust; on the other hand, if taken too far, it could easily cloud his judgement to the point of causing more harm than good. 

“No, no,” the Jedi master reassured Obi-Wan. “Duchess Satine isn’t much older than Princess Fanry, but she is sharp and genuine. I’m sure we’ll all be just fine together.”

“I see.”

The padawan didn’t sound entirely convinced, but he didn’t press the matter any further. Qui-Gon chose to leave it and return their minds to more important matters for the time being. 

“Now, I expect you’ve found valuable information about the terrain? We must be sure we have packed appropriately.”

“I have, yes. As it turns out, the sector is rather geographically diverse.”

Obi-Wan quickly pulled up some holomaps and launched into the details that his research had dug up. As his padawan spoke, Qui-Gon leaned back and took it all in, his mind using the information to form plans and back-up plans. They certainly wouldn’t be packing light this time around, it seemed. 

* * *

The morning of their departure found Obi-Wan running back to the training salles. While they were checking their packs one last time before going to the hangar to meet the duchess, Obi-Wan had realized that Qui-Gon’s grappling hook was missing—because _of course_ it was and _of course_ his master had neglected to notice—and decided a replacement would be necessary for the mission. So, while Qui-Gon went on ahead of him, Obi-Wan went in search of the Order’s battlemaster, Cin Drallig, who had access to such supplies. 

After a few minutes of searching for the man, he found him and was able to procure a new grappling hook. Then, Obi-Wan was off again, racing back to their apartment, grabbing his rucksack, doing a quick final sweep of their rooms, and rushing to the hangar. He slowly began to catch his breath again as the lift made its way down to the level Qui-Gon had given him, and tried to settle his mind. There was no point in pretending that this mission would be easy, or that he would be at all in control of what happened to them, but that was okay. _All is as the Force wills it_ , he repeated in his mind. It was a calming mantra, and he felt his pulse slow to its normal rate. 

The lift came to a gentle stop, and through the doors, Obi-Wan could feel his master’s steady Force presence just outside. There were others in the hangar, he could sense the familiar presences milling about and one he thought he knew but couldn’t quite place, but none of those were his current priority. Qui-Gon was waiting for him—that was all that mattered right now. The grilles opened and Obi-Wan stepped out briskly, immediately opening his mouth to announce that he had arrived. 

“Master, I’m—”

He was utterly engulfed in a bright aura that practically bloomed in the Force. It seeped into his own, startling him, yet not in an unpleasant way. When he cast his gaze over to the young woman next to Qui-Gon, the source of this wave in the Force, another jolt ran through him. _That_ was why this presence wasn’t entirely foreign to him; he had been so focused on his tasks for the day and not being late that he hadn’t been this open to the Force yesterday... He had sensed only a miniscule _glimmer_ of this when he had passed her on his way into the Senate building. Now, as he actually took her in, she was like one of the constellations he had learned when he was a youngling, like some beacon for wayward starships in the vast expanse of space. 

Qui-Gon gave him an odd look, perhaps sensing his peculiar reaction, or perhaps seeing how his eyes had widened and his mouth had opened ever so slightly. Or both. 

“Padawan?”

“I’m… sorry I’m late. I was able to get you a new grappling hook, Master.” Obi-Wan recovered as smoothly as he could. He then angled himself back to face the duchess and her two companions, and bowed.

“Good,” said Qui-Gon, though his brow was still raised. “Duchess Satine, may I present my Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi?”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Padawan Kenobi.” The duchess’ voice was soft but rich as she extended her hand out to him. 

“The pleasure is all mine, Your Grace.”

He took her hand, which was cool to the touch, and bent over it, forcing himself to breathe lightly and steadily as he brushed his lips over her knuckles. When he straightened back up and released her hand, he assumed a polite smile. Internally, though, he felt himself cringing at the entire situation. _Only one way forward, Kenobi._

“I hope you will forgive my rather abrupt arrival, Duchess. I had not realized you were here, and did not mean to cause any offense.”

Her lips twisted into a faint smile that was accompanied by a sparkle of genuine amusement in her eyes. “Oh, no, Padawan Kenobi,” she said as she gave a small laugh. “You do not offend me in the slightest.”

  
  


  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope y'all are ready to leave Coruscant—Mandalore awaits!
> 
> Thanks for reading, for kudos-ing, and commenting! All are greatly appreciated  
> Also HUGE thank you to my dear friend who proof-read for me, helped me brainstorm, and gave me ways to improve this chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

The image of Concord Dawn on the holomap was marked with the bright scarlet shriek-hawk symbol of Clan Vizsla and _Kyr’tsad_ , just like nearly all the other worlds and moons in the sector. Every occupied place was a small blow to him, but none had quite the same sting as seeing that vile sigil over Concord Dawn—his birthplace, which had already seen enough destruction and harm. Time had done little to soothe the festering wound _Kyr’tsad_ had left in Jango Fett’s chest, despite all the years that had passed. His anger burned, had been boiling for longer than he could remember, but this time he was in control. He had learned patience over the past few years. The hands of his teachers had been unyielding and brutal, but he had learned how to choose his timing, how to wait. It was because of those hard lessons that he knew this time would be different. It wouldn’t be like Galidraan. He had a plan— _they_ had a plan. 

However, he wasn’t exactly pleased that the _J_ _etiise_ had become a part of said plan. 

He was wary when his _Jorad’alor_ brought them into her speech to the Galactic Senate; he had been watching it on the Holonet with Ruusaan Ordo, the countess harboring him within her stronghold, and she had reassured him that it was a wise move. It was a valid point—reminding the Senate what _Kyr’tsad_ had done to their beloved Jedi Order would make it much harder for them to sweep Mandalore under the rug as just another thing to be ignored. So Jango had let it go. He listened to the rational part of his mind, the part that reminded him that the Jedi had been misled with false accusations at Galidraan, and tried to force down his usual gut reaction of fury anytime the Jedi were mentioned. 

Ordo didn’t share all of what she hoped the duchess’ move would achieve, though. When Kryze had commed him to go over the plan for her arrival one last time and told him she would have two Jedi with her… it hadn’t turned into one of their finer conversations. The argument had caught Ruusaan’s attention when she passed by the quarters Jango was staying in, and she had to step in and intervene, which led to Jango discovering that _she_ was the one who had pushed for Satine to have Jedi protectors and simply neglected to tell him about it. That, too, had gone poorly, and he wound up excusing himself from the quarters to cool off. 

Once he had simmered down enough, he got ahold of the duchess again and the three of them were able to have a much more civil discussion. He didn’t like getting the _J_ _etiise_ involved, and quite frankly wanted nothing to do with them, but he could not deny that Ruusaan had good reasons for her scheme. So, too, did Satine for her decision to go along with it. The Jedi Order would be their ally this time around, with the extra motivations of having the opportunity to right the wrongs they had done and the chance to help bring down a group that had misused them. 

And, in a secret place buried deep within his heart, there was a small ache of relief at the thought of Adonai’s daughter being protected by some of the most powerful beings the galaxy had to offer. 

* * *

It was frigid, the cold of the stone seeping off the walls and into the very air she breathed, squeezing at her lungs like some serpent coiling itself around her chest. She plunged into the dark hallway anyway. The flighty ball of light was just ahead, and she needed to follow it. 

_Close now, so close_ , whispers cut through the heavy air of the crypt. They layered upon one another; just when she thought she could recognize one, it faded and blended in with the rest. 

The light grew stronger and she slowed. It was a flame, she saw now, circling over the heads of three statues. Its glow was cast on the statues, and she realized with a pang who they portrayed. 

“ _See what they have become?_ ” hissed the flame in a mocking tone. Her blood turned to ice—she knew that voice. 

She tore her attention from the stone faces of her parents and brother. Tears pricked at the corners of eyes, but she didn’t flinch when she looked at the shriek-hawk wreathed in fire. Tor Viszla’s cruel eyes looked out from the bird. It glanced down at the place where it had made its perch, and only then did she take in the fullness of her surroundings. 

The firelight flickered across another statue, a stone image of herself, but the eyes had been gouged out by talons. Blood trickled down its face, dripping onto the hands and the carved lily delicately clasped in them, pooling on the floor.

“ _See what you will become?_ ”

Satine woke with a start and clutched at her chest. Her heart was still there, hammering furiously against her ribs, telling her that there was life in her yet. She took a slow, unsteady breath. 

“Duchess?” Ja’kad’s voice came through the darkness, slightly gravelly from sleep but urgent. Satine could barely make out the shadowy forms of the room, the blinking lights of the ship’s monitors offering little visibility. Even so, she knew the bodyguard would have her hand on a blaster, ready to fend off a threat. 

“I’m—” her voice was too raspy, too faint. Satine attempted to clear her throat “I’m fine. Just… need some air.”

There was a rustle as Ennan shifted in her small bunk, and Satine felt her cheeks warm. She needed to get a grip. 

“Do you want company?” Ennan murmured. 

“Thank you, but I’ll be fine. You both can just go back to sleep.”

Neither of her companions protested, but they didn’t lay back down as she climbed out of her bunk and pulled on a robe. Her mind was still misty; she was not yet completely free from her dream-state despite waking so abruptly. As she adjusted the robe she noticed, distantly, that her fingers were trembling. It was as if they were not her own. They were the hands of an unstable hologram—some foreign objects with whom she felt no kinship. 

She slipped out of their compartment without any real direction in mind. There were few options, as it was a small ship, but at least there was some room to move around. The iciness of the durasteel floors against her bare feet managed to simultaneously ground and unsettle her. It was _there_ and it was _real_ , but the cold was too much like her dream and its pressing closeness. She needed to see out, to see there was more than just the tight walls of the ship. 

Her feet padded noislessly toward the cockpit and its window to the stars. However, she faltered when she neared the entrance and saw there were lights already on and two people seated by the controls. She hadn’t considered that the Jedi might be awake. They did sleep, didn’t they? 

“You may come in, Duchess,” the Jedi Master said, making her startle despite his warm tone. 

She took a step out of the shadowy passageway and placed a hand on the frame of the entranceway. “I don’t wish to intrude—I had thought everyone was still asleep,” she confessed. 

Master Qui-Gon gave her a small smile, his eyes kind. “You aren’t intruding. Obi-Wan and I are just keeping an eye on things. Come, make yourself comfortable.”

“Thank you, Master Jedi.”

Satine settled herself in the seat closest by the door and pulled her braid over her shoulder. Her fingers, still acting independently from her mind but not quaking as much, began to twist their way through the ends of her hair as her gaze fell on the stars out ahead. In her periphery, she thought she saw the two Jedi exchange a look, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Even if she had the energy to care, she wasn’t sure she had enough to pull her attention away from where it was currently fixed. 

They were all quiet for a while, simply listening to the hum of the ship. Satine knew that this wasn’t a good look for her; she should be alert and conversational, or better yet, she should have just avoided this situation altogether since she couldn’t manage to do that. She had to keep up her unshakable, poised persona if she wanted to be taken seriously. Appearing as anything _but_ that, especially when there were already those who dismissed her as a naive fool and _especially_ in front of people who she hardly knew, was inexcusable. 

Then again, these two men were likely to be spending quite a bit of time with her over the coming weeks, if they were as set on staying as the Jedi Council had led her to believe. They would become what Ennan and Ja’kad had been to her over the past year. And, if she were to guess, they could already sense her emotions even when she kept them under a mask—they were Jedi, after all. They could see through her pretenses, and perhaps letting herself falter just this once, out in space where no one else would see, wasn’t so great a transgression. 

“Forgive me, Duchess, but you seem troubled,” Qui-Gon said gently after some time. It was as if he heard her thoughts and had been waiting for an opening to respond to them. Perhaps he had; for all Satine had learned about the Jedi, there was much more that remained a mystery to her. Mind-reading could very well be one of their special abilities. 

She blinked and met his eyes for a moment, then looked down at her hands. “There is a lot on my mind, Master Jinn. It’s just the stress.”

When she raised her head again, briefly, she found the padawan was looking at her as well. There was something in his gray-blue eyes—not quite pity, but perhaps empathy—and it felt so genuine that she had to look away again. It was a bit unnerving how easily Jedi seemed to be able to read people. She had noticed it when she had first met Master Koth, and when she had spoken with the Jedi Council earlier that week, but she didn’t think she would ever get used to it. It was as though her skin was being peeled back and all her hidden thoughts were being laid bare. 

“I’ll make us some tea, then,” said the Jedi master as he got to his feet. It was an impressively fluid motion, especially for one so tall and sturdy. “I’ve found that one should never underestimate the good that can come from a cup of tea.” 

Satine and Obi-Wan watched as he strode out of the cockpit, disappearing into the small kitchenette. 

“I hope you like Gatalentan tea. It’s been a favorite of ours lately.”

It was a slight surprise to hear Padawan Kenobi’s voice; he hadn’t spoken to her since their rather unconventional meeting that morning, which now felt as though it had been days ago rather than hours. She had decided he was simply the reticent type, perhaps embarrassed from earlier. 

Satine swiveled back around to face him, a brow slightly raised. Her gut gave another small jump, because there was a light smile accompanying his words, and she could see a hint of the dimple she thought she had seen hours earlier. The distant Jedi apprentice was perhaps more sociable than she had come to believe. 

“I do,” she said, feeling her own face relax into a more contented expression. “Although I must admit I am partial to Mandalorian teas.”

“I cannot say I’ve had the pleasure of trying any. What are they like?” he asked. 

“They’re richer in spices, a bit like Gatalentan tea. Some more of a fiery spice, and others are sweeter, but they’re all the type you can feel warming the inside of your chest.” She paused, realizing how silly she must sound, describing _tea_ like this. “I don’t know quite how else to explain it.”

Rather than laugh or merely offer a polite nod, Padawan Kenobi had the bright look of understanding on his face. “They sound wonderful—that feeling is why my master and I are so fond of the Gatalentan. I’ll have to try to procure some of your tea if the opportunity presents itself.”

“I’m sure that there will be plenty available at Clan Ordo. I must say, though, I hadn’t expected the Jedi to be such enthusiasts of the galaxy’s teas,” she replied, really smiling now. 

She was rewarded by a broadening of the padawan’s grin and a faint blush. It was comforting, like being with a friend, and she found that it lessened some of the weight that had been settled over her chest for far too long. Satine suspected that he was doing this on purpose in an effort to draw her out of her brooding, and she was grateful for it. He seemed sincere, but even if the only reason he was making conversation was to try to distract her, it was working. The dregs of her nightmare were being chased away by this sense of ease, of camaraderie, that seemed to fill the small quarters. It seemed too authentic to just be a form of placation for her agitated mind. 

“Most of us like our tea,” he admitted. “Although, Master Qui-Gon is one of the few who go through distinct phases. There were two full months a few years ago where we only had variations of Tarine tea in our cupboards.”

“Only Tarine tea? How horrid!” laughed Satine, a slight tease lacing her words. 

He gave a rueful shrug. “Most of them were, but a few were alright. I truly do not understand how he drinks the stuff.”

“If you’re talking about the Tarine tea, Obi-Wan, you would do well to recall its medicinal benefits,” said the Jedi master as he re-entered the cockpit, managing to balance three mugs of tea. Sure enough, the scent of Gatalentan herbs and mild spices wafted up from them. 

“Medicinal benefits?” asked Satine after gratefully accepting a mug from him. 

“Indeed, Duchess. It is an excellent boost for one’s immune system and metabolism.”

Padawan Kenobi narrowed his eyes as he took a sip of his tea. “I’m not sure that’s actually true, Master. I thought you’d said it just helped make for a more filling breakfast if someone was short on supplies.”

“And a complete meal to start the day is certainly good for the immune system and metabolism, is it not?” Master Jinn asked innocently, although there was a twinkle in his eye as he surveyed his student over the edge of his mug. The padawan merely shook his head and let out a sigh in response. Then, Master Jinn focused back on Satine. “Please, do drink up, Duchess. It will help with the nightmares.”

_Ah._

Satine’s cheeks burned, and she could feel it creep its way from her chest up her neck, as well. It was a rather unfortunate thing her body did whenever she got embarrassed, even as a child. Why her blushes couldn’t just stick to her face rather than spread to the rest of her body was beyond her. 

She cast her gaze downward and sipped at her tea. 

“Was it really so obvious?”

Neither Jedi answered for a moment, but she knew they were both watching her. 

“We sensed a disturbance in the Force,” said Master Qui-Gon smoothly, without any trace of judgment. “It was clear something had woken you—something unpleasant.” 

_That_ , she thought, _is perhaps putting it a bit mildly._ However, she did appreciate that he hadn’t elaborated further. She knew the two Jedi had likely sensed much more than that, but it was nice to not have it confirmed. Some part of her could still pretend they hadn’t felt her surge of fear and pain. 

“Well,” she said, feigning nonchalance, “I suppose there is no getting past you two. I am fortunate to have you as my protectors, in that case.”

“It is our honor to defend you, Your Grace,” Master Jinn nodded to her respectfully. “And, it is my hope that we will be able to build up our trust in one another. I sense that we will need it in the coming days.”

“Thank you, Master Jedi. That is my hope as well.” 

She knew that whatever they found when they got to Mandalore, it would be serious; she hadn’t deluded herself into thinking that she would be living in safety. But she still felt a sliver of fear carve its way into her skin as she considered what the Jedi might sense coming. If Master Jinn felt something loomed ahead of them, that made the danger seem even more real and inevitable. It meant that the tiny piece of her that had hoped maybe she would be spared even more heartache finally had to be squashed down for good. She had known it all along, really, as it would be impossible for her to avoid seeking out the places where there was most anguish. She just hadn’t wanted to give up that small impossible chance that things might be better than they truly were. 

All she could realistically hope for was that she and Fett would be successful and prevent further suffering from happening in the future. 

There was still a long way to go on that front, as well as on the road to developing trust between herself and her Jedi protectors. Their alliance and their cordial, even friendly, conversations were nowhere near the close confidence that she knew they would need. Satine could tell that they were all of the same mind—they knew they would need to get to the point of instinctive faith in each other when they went into the war zones. They would have to have at least a basic understanding of one another’s tendencies and movements, their reactions, strengths, and weaknesses. As master and apprentice, she knew that her companions were more than likely already there and needed very few words to communicate effectively. It was just a matter of them getting to know her, and she them. 

It would not be easy, she knew, and it would take time. However… 

Satine’s gaze flicked back over at Padawan Kenobi again, her eyes acting of their own accord. 

Maybe they were already taking their first steps on that difficult journey.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Jorad'alor - this is a term I came across in Blue_Sunshine's amazing series "The Desert Storm." It roughly translates to "voice-leader," and for me, I think it seems the best way to describe an elected official like a prime minister using Mando'a (which is why I use the two terms interchangeably). 
> 
> I guess this was a Mando-perspective chapter? Planning to have them all in the same place next chapter, so I hope y'all are ready!
> 
> Thank you for reading, kudos-ing, and commenting! All are hugely appreciated as I take on this story :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is admittedly not super-thoroughly edited, so I apologize in advance for any errors!

Their introductions to the _Mand’alor_ went rather smoothly, moreso than Qui-Gon had prepared himself for, even with the leader’s obvious displeasure at the presence of the Jedi. There was no mistaking the way _Mand’alor_ Fett’s lips tightened in a hard line when he looked at the master and apprentice, nor could Qui-Gon deny that he had sensed the suppressed animosity coming off of the Mandalorian in waves. But no harsh words were exchanged, and no fights had broken out; all was civil, if a little tense. 

And Obi-Wan, thank the Force, seemed to be back on top of things. Had he tripped up the way he did when he met Duchess Satine... Qui-Gon had the feeling the _Mand’alor_ would not have responded as graciously as the duchess. The Jedi master could afford to find the matter amusing now, as it hadn’t had any dire consequences, but he had found it odd. Qui-Gon had come to count on his padawan to always put his best foot forward when dealing with various dignitaries and heads of state, to be charming but adhere to the culture’s formalities, to be diplomatic but firm when he needed to be. Even a blunder as small and innocuous as the one the other morning stood out like a sore thumb when compared to his past record. 

When he had asked Obi-Wan about it, back on the ship when they were alone, the young man merely shook his head, looking a little bewildered himself. “It was her Force presence, Master. I hadn’t expected it to be quite so _potent_.” 

Qui-Gon had pondered at that. The duchess, like most people, had her own aura in the Force, but it hadn’t struck him as terribly distinctive other than being relatively bright. Upon hearing his padawan’s further explanations—how it was some sort of radiant blaze that caught him off guard—and meditating on the matter, he had come to the conclusion that it was in line with his own impressions about this mission. The duchess was reflecting the Light Side, which meant that protecting her and her cause was precisely what the Force needed them to do. Why Obi-Wan had been so sensitive to it was just another puzzle to contemplate later; perhaps it was some indication of his abilities improving, or maybe the Force was using Obi-Wan more directly in its plans. Whatever the reason, it would be revealed in due time if the Force willed it. For now, he needed to focus on the course that was set clearly before him: to obey the Living Force and protect the duchess. 

As they stood in the strategy room of Ruusaan Ordo’s austere fortress, Qui-Gon allowed his senses into the Force even while he paid attention to the conversation, hoping it might illuminate things that were left unsaid. He and his padawan stood off to the side a few paces, still part of the planning process but distinctly not at the center of it. _Mand’alor_ Fett and Duchess Satine stood shoulder to shoulder, scrutinizing a holoprojection of the entire sector while Countess Ruusaan stood on the opposite side of it, pointing out the different places where confirmed allies were and where potential ones might be found. To the countess’ left stood Ennan, who was verifying different points with her datapad. Ja’kad was there, too, and occasionally offered her thoughts, but mostly she just prowled back and forth, watching the projection like a predator stalking its prey. 

The Jedi master breathed in deeply then let out a slow exhale. He allowed the various trails and tendrils in the Living Force to reach to him now, and he sifted through them. Obi-Wan’s signature came first, the familiar luminous river that he had learned to navigate over their time together. It was steady at the moment, but deep and thrumming with vitality as always. Qui-Gon sent a minute pulse of affection down their bond and felt the returning nudge before he turned his attention to the other beings in the room. 

Duchess Satine’s essence claimed him next, glimmering like a distant star over some long-forgotten world. Beside her, the _Mand’alor_ ’s presence was a blazing comet. While the duchess was a spark in her own right, hers didn’t have the same insistence of Jango Fett’s aura. His was closer to becoming an inferno, if he slackened his tightly-held control of his own trajectory. Yet, though he held that threat of destruction, Qui-Gon could still feel the Light there, too. There was the Dark, yes, but the _Mand’alor_ had some of that same hint of promise that lingered about the duchess. 

“ _Kyr’tsad_ doesn’t have too strong of a hold on Zanbar,” said the Duchess thoughtfully, and Qui-Gon could tell she was about to circle back to a debate that kept coming up since they had arrived. He felt his padawan tense slightly beside him, indicating that he knew where things were heading, too. “If I go there first, I could see about rallying support from some of the smaller clans.”

“We’ve been over this. You’re _not going._ ”

On the other side of the projection, Qui-Gon could feel Ruusaan Ordo’s presence give a small sigh at the _Mand’alor_ ’s words. She had the same fire that all Mandalorians seemed to have, but just as it was different between the duchess and the _Mand’alor_ , hers was a variation of that common thread. It was the burn of _beskar_ that had just come from the kiln, sturdy and resolute, with the ability to sear the skin if one made the mistake of getting too close. 

He knew the countess would not interfere until it became absolutely necessary; she respected the fact that her two leaders needed to work through these things on their own. From Ennan’s torch-like spirit, too, Qui-Gon felt no move to get involved. She recognized when it was her time to speak and knew this was not one of those times, close as she was to the young duchess. Ja’kad, however, had the potential to be reckless. He could feel the scorching heat of the bodyguard’s forge-like presence spike at the tone in her king’s voice toward Duchess Satine. 

“How _else_ am I supposed to reach our people if _Kyr’tsad_ is blocking transmissions?” the duchess retorted. 

“As I told you yesterday, you can make contact when we have secured the territory,” _Mand'alor_ Fett ground out as he turned fully to face her, forcefully emphasizing each of the last three words. “Hell, you can go there in person if you want at that point. But there is no point in letting you run off on your own straight into a trap. _No stupid sacrifices._ ”

They stood toe to toe, easily meeting each other’s glare as they were almost of the same height. Qui-Gon thought he saw something waver in the _Mand’alor_ ’s expression and felt a ripple in the Force from the man as the duchess set her jaw, but it was gone so quickly that he wasn’t sure if it had truly been there. 

“I won’t _be_ alone, _ner Mand’alor,_ ” she snapped, somehow making the title of respect sound akin to an insult. “Master Jinn and Padawan Kenobi have made it clear they intend on staying through to the end.”

Fett’s eyes slid over to the Jedi, then back to his _Jorad’alor._ They had had that discussion already, too; the duchess had told them they were free to return to the Order since she had made it to Clan Ordo safely, but Qui-Gon had assured her they were there to protect her for the duration of this conflict. The _Mand’alor_ hadn’t said anything one way or the other in response to that pronouncement, only grunted in acknowledgement, but Qui-Gon had felt the barest hint of appreciation come off of the man. 

Taking advantage of the _Mand’alor_ ’s momentary pause, Duchess Satine continued on hurriedly. “Besides, it’ll be easier to reclaim land with less bloodshed if I can go in and make alliances ahead of you. And _Kyr’tsad_ would hardly expect me to be right under their noses— _I’m not finished yet_ ,” she said, her voice cutting sharply when he tried to interrupt. “It’s just like you being on Ordo right now. Nobody would think to look for you here because it's the closest world to their main base on Mandalore, _and_ the countess has let them think they have control here!”

“But I made sure I had allies here before I arrived, while _you_ plan to just blindly trust that the clan leaders you meet with won’t turn you over to Vizsla or execute you on the spot.”

The _Mand’alor_ ’s voice was harsh and unforgiving. Out of the corner of his eye, Qui-Gon saw Ja’kad make a sudden movement forward but stop just as abruptly at a look from Ennan. There was a brief flash of anger, then when Ja’kad’s shoulders slumped there was a tinge of resignation, followed by a stream of tenderness passing between the two women. Both pairs of eyes had softened toward one another, then had gone back to watching the argument with guarded expressions. It was clear that they were not enjoying this any more than Qui-Gon was. 

To his surprise, the duchess’ expression shifted and became slightly more earnest rather than just indignant. “How can we expect them to have any faith in us, to believe that we’ll be any better than _Kyr’tsad,_ if we don’t offer that same faith in them? It’s a risk we have to take. You wanted me as the _Jorad’alor_ and our allies decided they did, too. Let me do what my role requires of me. _Please._ ” 

The _Mand’alor_ glowered at her and looked like he would prolong the dispute, but then deflated. Learning forward on the rim of the wide-based holoprojector, he shook his head and let out a dry laugh. 

“Kriffing hell. Sometimes I almost forget who I’m talking to, then you say shit like that. You’re as aggravatingly relentless as your father.”

All of the strained pressure in the room seemed to evaporate. The duchess, after blinking in astonishment at the sudden change, slowly began to smile. 

“He was rather obstinate,” she admitted with a small giggle. “So was Mum, though. I suppose I wouldn’t have much choice in the matter.”

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t,” snorted Fett. 

“So, does that mean I have your blessing to go?” she hedged after a few seconds. 

The _Mand’alor_ raised his head to fix her with a narrow-eyed look. “You’re not the only stubborn one here, Duchess. But I’ll consider it.”

The duchess beamed. 

“ _Jetii_ ,” said Fett abruptly, straightening and turning to Qui-Gon. 

“Yes, _Mand’alor_ ,” Qui-Gon dipped his head in a small bow as he stepped forward. “How might we be of service?” His face was calm as the Mandalorian ruler examined him carefully then glanced past him to look over Obi-Wan. 

“You’re serious about defending her?” Fett’s dark eyes were back on his now, a challenge hidden in them as they searched his face for any hint of deceit. 

“My padawan and I will protect her with our lives,” said Qui-Gon solemnly. “The Force has brought us here to help you bring balance to your sector, and we will do our duty.”

After a moment, the _Mand’alor_ let out a huff and nodded, apparently finding no lies in Qui-Gon’s face. “I’ll hold you to that, Master _Jetii_. But so help me, if you betray us in any way, I will not hesitate to bring my vengeance down on your Order.”

“ _Mand’alor_ ,” the duchess said sharply. 

He spared her a glance over his shoulder, but had his fierce gaze back up on Qui-Gon in an instant. “For Satine’s sake, and for yours, I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

“As I said, _Mand’alor_ , we are here as servants of the Force,” the Jedi master said humbly. “And the Force demands that we protect the duchess and support your cause however we can.”

Fett merely nodded once again, though a note of interest seemed to have entered his expression now, and pivoted back to look at the holomap without another word. The duchess watched him warily, and after a few moments looked past him to her Jedi protectors. Her brow was furrowed in thought as she looked between the three of them. Then, her face cleared as she evidently made up her mind about something. 

“Master Jinn, Padawan Kenobi, would you like to accompany me to the dining hall?” she asked in a pleasant, but slightly strained tone. “I should eat something before my training session this afternoon with Ja’kad, and I recall promising Padawan Kenobi that I would ensure he had the privilege of trying some of our Mandalorian teas.”

There was a small surge of amusement in the Force from his padawan, causing Qui-Gon to glance over at him. The corners of the young man’s lips were quirked upward in a subdued smile that was mirrored on the duchess’ face, as if sharing in some secret joke. It must have been something they had discussed when he hadn’t been around—that one time he had left them to go make tea in the ship’s kitchenette, he supposed. He was relieved to see that they seemed to be getting along, relieved that their efforts to build trust in one another seemed to be paying off. 

“Of course, Duchess,” replied Qui-Gon. She seemed to relax a bit, and led the way out of the room after making the proper good-byes to the others. Qui-Gon allowed Obi-Wan to go ahead of him a few paces before following, and Ja’kad gave them each an almost friendly sort of nod before moving towards the rest of the Mandos who had stayed behind. She and Ennan were to return to their clan duties with the war effort since their former charge was now in the care of the Jedi, and though he knew they had mixed feelings about leaving the duchess, he also could sense that they were itching to get back into the action with their fellow Mando warriors. 

On his way out the door, he heard Countess Ruusaan’s low voice in the otherwise quiet room. 

“If anyone can do this, it’s her. I know it’s tempting to hide her away for Adonai’s sake, but she is _strong_. She’ll be okay.”

There was a brief silence, and then Qui-Gon just made out _Mand’alor_ Fett’s exhausted response. 

“I know.”

* * *

Obi-Wan had come to find he had quite the affinity for Mandalorian teas—a fact which seemed to delight the duchess. She had been rotating out the varieties since his first introduction to them, making sure he was able to sample a new flavor each day. This particular afternoon, it had been a peppery black tea with hints of lemon, a type that the duchess told him and Qui-Gon her parents used to give her whenever she caught a cold growing up. It hadn’t been Obi-Wan’s favorite of the ones he tried so far, but he still liked it, and from the heat it brought to his sinuses he could imagine the wonders it could do to alleviate a headcold. 

The tea and the short chats had become part of the routine they had gradually developed since they had arrived nearly three weeks ago. Each day for Obi-Wan started with meditation alongside Qui-Gon and practicing his katas, followed by breakfast down in the dining hall, often with the duchess and other inhabitants of the stronghold’s manor. Then the Jedi would become the duchess’ shadows as she went through her daily meetings and planning sessions, as well as her intermittent visits to her clan members and medical centers scattered throughout the city walls. They would have tea in the afternoon, or whenever they happened to get back from their excursions, and then the duchess would go train with Ja’kad, leaving Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon to have some time to themselves.

While Obi-Wan usually chose to use this time to continue working on his katas or saberwork, now he was sitting cross-legged on the floor of his room in the suite that he and Qui-Gon were sharing. Since the morning, he had felt something brewing ahead in the Force, though precisely what it was, he could not say. When he told his master about it, Qui-Gon had looked troubled and directed Obi-Wan to commune with the Force on the matter, while he contacted the Council to update them on his own. So, feeling apprehensive and knowing that his premonition was very likely related to their current mission, which meant it would be exceedingly helpful if he knew what it _meant_ , Obi-Wan had gone to meditate. Or at least, he was trying to, but his agitation was making it difficult. 

In an attempt to settle his mind, Obi-Wan cast about for something relatively pleasant and mundane. The rich, cinnamon-heavy red tea that the duchess shared with him the day before came to mind, and the way it had settled in his chest like a glowing ember. He gathered himself around the memory of that sensation, of the comforting warmth it had produced, and began to feel the familiar blending of his spirit with the Force around him. 

It was as though a great web made of strands of light flooded out from him, forming connections and patterns within the Force. He allowed his feelings to unravel and stretch outward, trusting the Force to guide them as they curled about. Different fibers brushed against him as he went. At each one, he was able to consider what it had to offer, then continue to move along, detached but not disregarding them.

He re-felt the mixed emotions of the duchess that followed each of their trips outside of the manor, her joy at seeing her people and to see good being done, and her anguish at the confirmed deaths and the hopeless cases. There was also her dismay at those who were missing with no trails left to follow—some family of advisors to her clan, she had said. 

_And_ , the Force whispered, _the others, too._

Obi-Wan bowed his head at the Force’s gentle reprimand. He could not minimize the pain that the diaspora of her clan had caused, just as he could not underestimate the devastation that reigned throughout the sector. This conflict impacted all Mandalorians, and many others besides. 

The Force seemed satisfied with his reflection and carried him on to the next strand of the web, where he felt his master’s rock-steady presence. It was a memory of Qui-Gon’s attempts at finding Mandalorian prophecies. The endeavor had been largely unsuccessful, as Mandalore was so often estranged from the Republic, which had left Qui-Gon feeling a bit vexed. However, it had led to them looking into the historical archives and reading about some of the Mandalorian-Jedi clashes of the Old Republic. The Jedi named Revan had stood out the most to Obi-Wan then, and he did now—his struggle with the Dark Side and his complicated relationship with the Mandalorians.

 _Maybe our mission here is similar to Revan’s redemption of the Mandalorians, by making sure the Mask of the Mand’alor went to the man who became Mand’alor the Preserver,_ thought Obi-Wan. He waited for a response from the Force, but it offered none.

Eventually, he felt himself growing closer to the source of his anxiety that had been growing throughout the day. His surroundings in the Force were turning to an ashy red and his pulse began to race, as if his fight-or-flight response had been triggered. A noise like thunder resounded down the strand towards him, a tremor clearing a path before the storm that was so clearly imminent. 

Obi-Wan jerked back to his physical surroundings and leapt to his feet, not even pausing to think before bolting out of the room. Qui-Gon was in the living area looking over a datapad but raised his head as his padawan came skidding to a stop. His expression rapidly went from one of confusion to one of concern. 

“Obi-Wan? What is it?” he had gotten to his feet, reaching the young man in a few quick strides and placing his hands on Obi-Wan’s shoulders. 

“I think they’ve found us.”

  
  


  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *"ner" means "my" in Mando'a, and for when Satine uses it to say "ner Mand'alor" I envision it as essentially being like saying "my king"
> 
> Pretty Force-heavy chapter (it's just so fun to write!), but what else can you expect from a couple of Jetiise? Hope you're ready for the whole "on the run" part to begin! 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, leaving kudos, and commenting!! I'm having a great time writing, and love reading the comments :) it's so great getting to see your thoughts - thank you for sharing them with me!


	6. Chapter 6

She hit the ground with a wheeze, flung aside like a child’s unwanted doll. It took a moment to process the shock of the collision. Then, the hollow sting shot from her torso through the rest of her body. 

“You hesitated.”

It wasn’t quite a rebuke, but the disapproval in his voice was hard to miss. Satine tried to suppress a scowl as she looked up at the _Mand’alor_ and blew a lock of hair out of her face. Whether it was the fact that she had gotten thrown yet again that had her so frustrated, or the fact that he was right and she couldn’t pretend otherwise, she wasn’t certain. She had found him vexing enough in the past when he was only barking out directives while she sparred with Ja’kad, but this was worse. Now, he was critiquing her even as he wiped the floor with her. 

“If I was _Kyr’tsad_ , you’d be incapacitated and in binders, or you’d have a hole in your head,” Jango said as he crossed his arms. “You see an opening, you _take it_. It’s got to be your first instinct.”

After spending the past year learning under Ja’kad’s instruction, this wasn’t news to her. She managed to bite her tongue in spite of the strong desire to snap at him. They both knew she was more than capable of defending herself his way, but there were things he just would never understand—how she didn’t _want_ her automatic reaction to be violence, how she didn’t want to harm another being without giving it any thought. Even with all the time she had spent working on it, there still lingered the dissonance between what she knew she needed to do to survive and the morals she had built up as she watched Mandalore tear itself apart. And then, underneath that trouble, there was the sound of her blood pounding in her ears and the feel of it boiling through her veins. It reminded her that for all her noble ideals, there was no escaping that famous Mandalorian passion and its short temper. She couldn’t simply think away that which was her inheritance. 

“Again. Until it’s a reflex.”

Satine inhaled sharply as she stood from the mats, shook out her tingling limbs, and dropped into a crouch. The _Mand’alor_ readied himself across from her, eyes narrowed as he made to circle her. Even though he wasn’t wearing armor and was far from using everything he had—it was just practice, after all—there was no denying that it wasn’t an even match-up. Then again, going up against Ja’kad never had been either. Beyond the simple fact that they had the real fighting experience she lacked, they were both far stronger and were knotted with muscle and sheer power, while Satine had a slim, wiry build. 

_“You’re small,”_ she remembered Ja’kad saying to her when they had first started out all those months ago, “ _but you can use your size to your advantage. Let them underestimate you, let them get exhausted trying to get a hold on you, and when the opportunity comes, you_ strike. _Learn to use what you’ve got as efficiently as you can and don’t let up for a second.”_

Jango darted forward, sweeping an arm toward her side. She dodged and shoved off the shoulder of his striking arm as it came near. 

_Keep moving._

The muscles in her legs filled with adrenaline as she whipped back around, sprang aside from his next charge. They quickly fell into the routine of leaps, drives, strikes, holds, breaking holds, and rolls. She forced her mind to silence itself for now, trusting her gut to carry her through it. 

_Don’t think, just move._

They tore about the mats for some time—she couldn’t tell how long. Everything seemed at once to blur yet stand still as they traded restrained blows. Then, finally, he left a clear opening, a test to see if she would follow through. 

With a sweep of her leg and a sharp yank forward, he was on the ground. Satine knew it was only because he allowed it to happen, but couldn’t keep the satisfied smirk from forming on her face.

“Well?” asked Fett, craning his neck to frown at her. “Are you going to finish it?”

The smirk disappeared as her lip curled in annoyance. She grabbed his arm and pinned it behind him, driving her knee into his back. 

“There,” she growled. “Happy now?”

He chuckled dryly. “Better.”

Satine heaved a sigh. The tension left her shoulders as she released him and moved to stand, only for it to return in full force at the sound of the door opening. She had her knees bent and fists raised in an instant, ready to fend off their attackers. Jango, too, had surged to his feet and was set in a defensive stance. 

“I beg your pardon for the interruption, _Mand’alor_ , Duchess,” said Master Jinn as he walked into the room with Padawan Kenobi just behind him. “But I’m afraid it’s of the utmost importance.”

Both of the Mandalorians relaxed slightly at the recognition of the intruders but their eyes remained vigilant. Satine felt a small twinge of embarrassment at her reaction—she was supposed to be a _pacifist_ —and crossed her arms. With her clothes clinging to her sweaty skin and more than a couple strands of hair having escaped the bun at the nape of her neck, she certainly must have looked a sight. Padawan Kenobi’s piercing gaze cut from Jango to her, causing her to raise her chin, as if that might make up for the regality her current appearance lacked. It all passed in a matter of milliseconds, then the unusual, flustered feelings drained away and were replaced by cold dread as her mind processed the urgency in the Jedi master’s voice.

“The Force has shown Obi-Wan that Death Watch is coming to invade Ordo. It seems that the time has come to put our plans into action.”

Jango stood rigidly fixed in place for a moment, and Satine found she was unable to move, either. She’d known that this wouldn’t last, that their routine had grown too comfortable for it to continue as it had, but it still felt like a punch to the throat. _How did they find out? Who-_

She couldn’t go down that road. Once the idea of betrayal crept into her thoughts, she would see traitors everywhere. Their luck had merely run out; it had been borrowed time, anyway. 

“You,” said the _Mand’alor_ in a clipped tone as he turned to her, “need to get out of here. Soon.”

Her throat dry, she gave him a stiff nod. Satisfied enough with her response, Jango flew into action. He had collected his belongings and was nearly out the door before she had time to register he had moved. 

“I’ll get our forces ready and have Ruusaan get monitors on the scanners. Wait for my signal. Jinn, you’re with me—we need to go over some things.”

The Jedi master nodded and followed. Then they were gone, and Satine had to force her body to _go_. 

“Duchess?” 

Satine met Padawan Kenobi’s eyes. There was attentiveness, a shade of understanding in them, and her resolve flared back to life. 

***

It wasn’t long before they were prepared to go, and Satine was left with nothing to do but wait with Padawan Kenobi for Fett. She had cleaned herself up, checked through her gear and bags several times, put on the upper body plating of her _beskar’gam_ , and was now pacing back and forth through her rooms. The _beskar’gam_ was truly a marvel, designed specifically for her. At Fett’s request, the Clan Ordo armorer had made it thin enough to be easily concealed if needed but without sacrificing its functionality. It moved smoothly with her, yet was undeniably solid to the touch. And the details that had gone into it… her fingers traced over her heart, where the crest of Clan Kryze was wreathed in Mandalorian peace lilies. They had been painted with such care, such reverence, that she felt as though it had been a way of conveying the belief that was being placed in her. 

_That_ was a whole different burden. Knowing that so many people were counting on her had the conflicting effects of reinforcing her determination while also warning her just how very much there was to lose. She was walking along the edge of a precipice: one false move and everything was over. All those nerves, the good and the bad, made her exceedingly restless. 

Padawan Kenobi, on the other hand, looked inexplicably serene as he watched her pace. His and Master Jinn’s things were in a neat pile by where he was standing near the door, and he hadn’t seemed to have moved since they’d gotten to her suite. 

“Aren’t you at all worried? Or stressed?” she finally burst out. 

His brows raised slightly. “Of course I am. But I trust that all will be as the Force wills it, and that’s reassurance enough.” 

“How?” 

“What do you mean?”

“I _mean_ ,” she said, twisting away toward the window and tossing her arms out to her sides, “how can that alone be reassuring?”

From behind her, she could hear him stepping away from the doors. 

“Well, the Force seeks balance. And from what Master Qui-Gon has been led to believe, the Light Side of the Force is working through you and the _Mand’alor_ to achieve that here,” he said in a thoughtful, serious tone as he came beside her to look out at the grounds below. 

“And you agree?” 

He shot her a look that seemed almost incredulous. 

“Of course I—” he cut himself off, his hand on his lightsaber as he spun around and angled himself between Satine and the doors.

They flew open with a _whoosh_ and Jango strode in flanked by two soldiers, one from Clan Kryze and the other from Clan Ordo. Padawan Kenobi instantly relaxed and stepped aside, bowing slightly to the _Mand’alor_ , who gave him a curt nod of acknowledgment. 

“No ships have been detected yet and our scouts say we’re in the clear for now. We’ve still got some time to prepare, but you’d better leave now anyway. Jinn is waiting by the speeder; he’s been briefed on our plans. Gaanar will get you to a ship,” Jango gestured to the Ordo soldier. “You’re still set on Zanbar?”

“I am,” said Satine as she moved to gather up her things. 

The _Mand’alor_ grunted in resignation, but nodded. “Make contact when it’s safe. Remember—no stupid sacrifices, got it?”

“None at all.” 

She didn’t look at him when she responded, focusing instead on adjusting her clothes and her backpack. They had very different opinions as to what a “stupid sacrifice” was, and she had secretly decided to stick with her own definition of it for the time being. Some of her plans were only likely to push him over the edge; there wasn’t much point in divulging them. Getting into yet another debate was something they couldn’t afford to do at the moment. 

“And Satine,” he caught her elbow as she started to follow the padawan out the door, his voice gruff and too low for anyone else to hear. " _K’oyacyi._ ” 

_Stay alive._ The sentiment behind the words was real.

She took a step back and pressed a fist to her heart. “ _K’oyacyi, Mand’alor_ Jango.” On her way through the door, she called one more thing over her shoulder: “ _Ret’urcye mhi._ ”

“Reh-tour-shay me?” Padawan Kenobi quietly repeated as he fell into step with her, and she smiled at his pronunciation. 

“Almost. It means ‘maybe we’ll meet again,’ it’s how we say goodbye.”

He was quiet for a few beats before speaking again. 

“I like that—the hope in it,” he said, then his voice grew hesitant. “Would you mind teaching me some _Mando’a_ , Duchess? Since we’ll be spending all this time together, I mean, and I’m sure it would be helpful if I knew at least a few words.”

The road ahead was shadowed and full of risks she knew she’d have to take. It had shrouded her thoughts for some time. And yet, at this simple question, something like joy bloomed in her chest, forcing its way through the darkness. 

“ _Elek_ ,” she said, and when she saw the puzzled expression on his face, she nudged his shoulder gently with her own. “That means _yes_.”

* * *

Jango watched from the main compound as the small craft soared into the atmosphere a few kliks away. The skies were otherwise clear for now, but he knew it wouldn’t last. He didn’t know much about the Force, and he didn’t think he believed in such a thing, but he knew _Kyr’tsad_. That was the only reason he hadn’t doubted the _Jet’ika_ ’s vision for a moment. If anything, he was more surprised it had taken them this long to find him and to realize Ruusaan had been playing them for fools. The ruse had finally been found out, though. Soon there would be _Kom’rk_ -class fighters raining the plasma of their cannons down on Ordo, and there would be smoke, and shouting, and explosions, and the stench of death. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d experienced it, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last. 

The ship was no longer visible, and he silently thanked the stars that Satine would be spared the onslaught, at least for now. She had gotten out with time to spare, perhaps enough time to avoid being detected, but he didn’t know. He wouldn’t know for a long while, and as much as he hated the notion, all he could do was place his confidence in the _Je_ _tiise_ to help her stay alive. Trusting her was easier than trusting them, although even then, he had his reservations. He didn’t warn her against stupid sacrifices without reason; her stubbornness made it difficult to talk her out some of her more idealistic pursuits. It was one of the more infuriating things about her, he’d found, and it had been the source of many of their arguments. 

Given who her parents were, he shouldn’t have been surprised that she dug her heels in as much as she did. However, while Adonai and Hélène had been warriors, their youngest child was decidedly not. At least, not in the traditional, physically violent or aggressive sense of the word. Satine was a fighter of a different creed, and he knew they would be proud of her. As he tipped his head back to gaze at the clouded heavens, Jango hoped that wherever their souls were now, they knew he was trying his best. 

The clanking of armor pulled him out of his thoughts. He turned to see Ja’kad Ordo approaching, easily recognizable with her bucket tucked under her arm. 

“ _Mand’alor_ ,” she said as she pressed a fist to her heart in a salute. “Got a com from the tech room. _Kyr’tsad_ just showed up on the scanners, should be within range in about eight minutes. Pilots are ready to go and waiting for your go-ahead.”

“ _Vor entye._ ” He dipped his chin to her, then brought his wrist-com up to his face. “Kaidu, you read me?”

There was a brief pause, then the Mando’s voice crackled through. _“Loud and clear, Mand’alor.”_

“Bring ‘em up.”

“ _Mar’e!_ ” 

The fervor in the commander’s voice told Jango all he needed to know about the state of his _verde._ He ended the connection, and the familiar pre-battle rush flooded through his bloodstream. 

“Ready, _Mand’alor_?” Ja’kad was helmeted, her rifle in her hands. 

He flashed her a savage grin as he pulled his own bucket on over his head. “ _Oya!_ ”

 _Let them come_ , he thought. He was sick of hiding. It was time to take back what was his, what belonged to all of the _Mando’ade._ If he had to cut down every last member of _Kyr’tsad_ , he would do it. No longer would the clans be left to fight on their own, no longer would it be just a series of isolated battles offering meager resistance to Vizsla’s forces. 

The war for Mandalore had begun in earnest, and Jango Fett’s blood was boiling for a fight.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a!:  
> "jet'ika" = in this situation, "little Jedi" (or, perhaps, "younger Jedi")  
> "vor entye" = "thank you"  
> "mar'e" = "finally"  
> "verde" = "soldiers"  
> "oya" = in this particular situation "let's hunt" 
> 
> Thank you for reading, leaving kudos, and commenting!! I appreciate the encouragement :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of POVs in this chapter, so buckle up! Also, I may have fudged some of the Mando'a, please bear with me.... I may have made up a few words on accident. (I apologize in advance if they're wrong!)

Zanbar breathed with life in the Force; the moment they had set foot on its swampy terrain, Qui-Gon had felt the flush of its vitality. All of it—the flourishing vegetation with its tangled vines, the amphibians secluded among the plants and in the murky waters, the low hum of insects, even the predators somewhere off in the distance—saturated his senses as they walked. There were sentient beings to be found on the moon as well, but they were further away and hardly had the same interest for him in this moment. Had he more time, he would have taken great pleasure in simply exploring the moon and meditating when the inclination struck him. It would have been a good exercise for Obi-Wan in connecting with natural life in the Force, too, now that Qui-Gon thought of it. That was something he would have to keep in mind. It was essential that the padawan was still growing with the Force even while he was performing his duties as a Jedi protector on this mission. 

The quiet chatter from the two teens behind him had become just another part of the background, another stitch in the fabric that made up the surroundings, but he took a moment to listen. 

“... and you’d say you’re Master Jinn’s _hibir_ ,” the duchess was saying. “Although, you might get asked if you’re his _ad_ or if he’s your _buir._ ”

“So Master Qui-Gon is _ner bajura_ , and I’m _kaysh hibir_?” said Obi-Wan. 

“Yes! Your pronunciation needs a bit of work still, but it sounds like you’re getting there. Just remember to have the words come more from your throat and your chest.”

Qui-Gon didn’t need to turn around to know his padawan was smiling. A triumphant reaction to the duchess' praise had seeped across their bond, and he felt a small smile of his own forming. Obi-Wan had a knack for languages, so Qui-Gon wasn’t terribly surprised at how rapidly the young man seemed to be picking up Mando’a. His speech didn’t have the same natural rise and fall as when the duchess spoke, but it was passable. Perhaps he would sound nearly fluent by the time their mission came to an end. 

“I am a _Jetii hibir_ ,” said Obi-Wan slowly, his concentration on the foreign words. 

“ _Hi_ bir. The emphasis is on the second syllable for that one, unlike _J_ _etii_ ,” she corrected. 

“ _Hi_ bir,” he repeated. 

“I’m more likely to introduce you and Master Jinn as _‘ner Jetiise cabure_ ,’ though, so it’s clear you’re with me.”

“Your Jedi protectors?” 

“Exactly.”

“And what is the Mando’a word for ‘duchess,’ should someone ask what I’m doing here?” Obi-Wan asked. 

“I think you’d just have to use ‘duchess,’ or I suppose you could use _Jorad’alor_ if you felt the need to use strictly Mando’a. There aren't really words for specific designations of nobility.”

“ _Ni cabuo Jorad’alor_ Satine Kryze.” His padawan’s voice was slow and precise as he worked through the sentence. 

“Very well done, Padawan Kenobi. We might just make a Mando of you yet.”

Qui-Gon could feel how the Light surrounded the three of them as they trekked through the hazy swamplands and among the rocky plateaus—how the Force drifted contentedly about the burgeoning friendship between his padawan and the duchess. It was important for Obi-Wan to get to know people outside the Jedi Order and understand how different life could be away from the Temple walls. Of course, Qui-Gon was quite glad that his apprentice had been raised among the Jedi and had built such strong friendships with other padawans, but part of being a Jedi was learning about and making connections with other cultures. As a Jedi master, Qui-Gon saw it as his duty to make sure Obi-Wan was exposed to as great a variety as possible. And, in this situation, the rapport could do a great deal of good for both cultures involved. 

Yes—the Force was working strongly here. He was growing more and more certain of it by the day. That he felt the Force moving so positively around them only solidified his beliefs that they were here for a reason beyond just ending this war. This would help bring balance to the galaxy, Qui-Gon was sure of it. It could mean bringing peace between the Jedi and the Mandalorians after their bloody histories with one another, too. After all, if he and Obi-Wan were able to preserve the life of the duchess and help her and the _Mand’alor_ restore justice to their sector, then the Mandalorians were likely to look at the Jedi more favorably. Aside from the simple fact that the current rift posed a great deal of danger to the Jedi, the distrust of the Jedi among the _Mando’ade_ also meant that Force-sensitives on Mandalore were often carefully hidden away. It was hard to say just how many beings never got the opportunity to be trained in the Force due to the false rumors about the Jedi being a cult of kidnappers, or how many of those Force-wielders had become servants of the Dark Side over the years. Qui-Gon hoped that this mission and the Mandalorian leadership it would yield would help to dispel the lies that had prevented the Jedi from offering their assistance in training those with Force-sensitivity. Placing Fett and Kryze in charge of Mandalore had the potential of being a pivotal moment in more ways than it seemed on the surface, and Qui-Gon was sure that was precisely why the Force had brought him here. 

_Perhaps,_ he mused, recalling one of the prophecies that had always wormed its way into his thoughts ever since he had read it, _the Chosen One will be found on Mandalore. Perhaps building a stronger relationship with the Mandalorians is what will allow us to discover the Chosen One._

He could practically hear Tahl’s voice in his mind, kindly and teasingly chastising him. _“You’ll get to that if and when it happens. You can’t just read a prophecy into any given moment, Qui. Usually, you don’t see it until after the moment has passed.”_

Tahl. She somehow always managed to be with him, even while star systems apart. If she were here with them, he was sure she would sense what he did. She would feel the constant affirmation in the Force that what they were doing was right. And, no doubt she would be as fascinated by the sector as he was. Qui-Gon smiled to himself as he pictured Tahl scouring about the fortress of Clan Ordo, feeling through the Force and asking about the various historical Mandalorian artifacts. She would be able to sense the history of the land itself simply by reaching out into the Force with her uniquely strong abilities, and she would likely find all kinds of wonders that had been buried by the passage of time. 

If he and Obi-Wan were successful, maybe she would be able to do just that. 

***

They had covered a great deal of distance from their ship, which they had landed in an evidently abandoned part of the moon, before they finally came to a halt at a secluded nook tucked away among a cluster of plateaus. The duchess hadn’t been particularly fond of the idea of leaving their ship behind, as it could provide shelter as they slept, but she had begrudgingly agreed when Qui-Gon reminded her that flying a craft straight into a clan’s territory wouldn’t quite have the element of stealth that they needed. It would be too great a gamble, especially if their suspicions were correct and Death Watch was monitoring the ship traffic around clan forts. They needed to minimize the risk of bringing the terrorists down upon the heads of their potential allies, as well as the risk of having Death Watch connect the dots and begin to recognize their ship. Unfortunately, it meant that they would have to sleep in the open air when they rested at night, which meant Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan would have to take shifts staying up to guard their camp. They had done it before, and he knew they would be just fine, but he still liked it better when his padawan could get a proper night’s sleep. 

As they rolled out their bedrolls, the muggy air began to chill with the setting sun. All three of them had shed a few layers throughout the day, but it seemed they would need them tonight. Qui-Gon glanced over at the duchess, who was carefully unbuckling her armor and laying it out beside her blankets, then at Obi-Wan, who was pulling some food out of his pack. Nothing seemed amiss with either of them, nor in the Force, so he set about building a small campfire. It would be safe enough for now, though he knew that the second he or Obi-Wan sensed anything they would have to put it out. 

“Dinner, Duchess?” asked Obi-Wan, offering a ration bar to her. 

“Oh, why thank you, Padawan Kenobi,” she said as she adjusted her posture and, with exaggerated formality, daintily accepted it. “How _ever_ could I refuse such a delicacy?”

Obi-Wan grinned, but quickly stifled it and gave her a solemn bow from where he knelt. “Your Grace is far too kind.” 

The duchess snorted a laugh and shook her head. It was nice to see her at ease, after seeing her in those tense strategy meetings for so many days and sensing her constant anxiety for her people. Qui-Gon was glad that his padawan had been able to step up to the challenge; the duchess seemed as though she was lacking in the companionship of people her own age, people she could relax around. Not that it was necessarily part of their assignment, but Qui-Gon had the feeling the mission would be slightly less challenging if the duchess had that sort of outlet. He had found that it was valuable for the emotional health of teenagers to spend time around their peers. 

Once the campfire was crackling merrily and they had finished their meager meals, Qui-Gon and the duchess started preparing themselves to sleep while Obi-Wan settled in for the first watch. However, before the Jedi master could drift off into his usual light meditation, he remembered the conversation he had had with the _Mand’alor_ before they left. With a frown, he sat back up and looked over to where the duchess was smoothing down her blankets. 

“Duchess, I hope you might enlighten me about something.”

Both she and Obi-Wan looked over at him, perplexed expressions on their faces. 

“Yes, Master Jinn?” she asked. 

“The _Mand’alor_ seemed to think you might have specific plans for Zanbar that you weren’t telling him about—perhaps a reason you were so bent on coming here, first,” said Qui-Gon carefully, watching her for any reaction. Her presence suddenly felt as though it had grown colder, but her face betrayed nothing other than the tiniest of flinches about her eyes.

“Oh?” 

“Yes. And I know you understand how it would be helpful to share such things with Obi-Wan and I,” he continued, “so if there is any truth to that, I would be appreciative if you told us.”

The duchess’ brows furrowed and her nostrils flared slightly as her lips thinned, turning her mouth into a hard line. She seemed to be warring with herself, and based on what was radiating from her in the Force, that was indeed the case. Obi-Wan was now looking at her as well, mild consternation written on his features. It seemed Qui-Gon had struck a nerve. 

Finally, her shoulders slumped in defeat and she met his calm gaze again. “There are some things that I know and the _Mand’alor_ doesn’t, such as the fact that there are those on Zanbar who may be more inclined to join us than he thinks,” she began slowly. “The clan I have us heading toward—Clan Lok—they’re a small clan, but they’re more likely to publicly side with us than most of the other clans we still have to convince. You see... my brother, Tomar, married Malya Lok in secret not long before he died. Only my family and hers knew about it, and we never made it public, but that sort of thing binds clans together beyond the usual alliances. That could be the extra edge we need to get them to announce their support for me and Fett. They ought to do it anyway, since he is the _Mand’alor_ , but when it could result in the annihilation of your entire clan… well, sometimes you need a few more reasons to do the right thing. Many clans are going to be hesitant until we can prove that we can defeat _Kyr’tsad_ , which is why I decided to start here. If we start with those who have more reasons to join, then we’ll be able to build our numbers up enough to convince those who don’t have as many reasons that we're serious and that we _will_ win.”

The last bit came out a bit of a rush, but it reminded Qui-Gon of the speech she had given in the Senate all those weeks ago. There was that same glint in her eye and the rich passion in her voice. 

“I hope you will forgive me for not telling you this earlier,” the duchess said, suddenly somber. “I had made a promise to keep it a secret, to protect everyone involved.”

Qui-Gon exchanged a look with Obi-Wan before replying. She didn’t notice; her gaze had dropped to watch the flickering of the flames. This was important information, indeed. They would have to make sure they remembered all the details and considered all the possible implications, but at least they were now somewhat prepared for what awaited them at Clan Lok. It was better than the gaping unknown they previously had been expecting.

“I understand your reasons, Duchess. Thank you for trusting us,” said Qui-Gon gently. “We won’t discuss it further tonight, however. It would be best if we got some sleep for now.”

She granted him a small, sad smile before curling up in her bedroll and turning her back to the fire. Qui-Gon cast one more look at his padawan and sent a wave of warmth down their training bond as he, too, settled back down. Once his eyes closed, he allowed his senses to begin to wade into the shallows of the Living Force. The subdued energy of the surrounding flora and fauna brushed against his senses, and he felt himself drift out among them, suspended in consciousness until the time came for him to wake. 

* * *

When it became clear that _Kyr’tsad_ wasn’t going to be putting boots on the ground, Jango had taken to the skies with his own small squadron. He had left the countess behind to defend her keep and direct the troops in charge of the ion cannons, and he was confident that they would all be just fine. Ruusaan Ordo knew what she was about. Besides, it was his job as the _Mand’alor_ to be in the thick of a battle. That was what Jaster Mereel had taught him, and he had never forgotten. 

He wrenched the steering yoke of his fighter sharply to the left, spinning out of the path of enemy fire. When the craft came into his viewscreen, he took his shot. The result was a satisfying burst of smoke and sparks ahead of him. 

“Nice shot, _Mand’alor_!” Gaanar’s voice shouted over the com as the damaged _Kyr’tsad_ ship plummeted to the ground. 

“Keep your eyes ahead, _vod_ ,” Jango barked back. “It’s not over yet.”

“Right on, sir.”

The number of _Kyr’tsad_ fighters was slowly dwindling, dropping far more quickly than the number of Ordo and Kryze ships swooping over the fortress. Fett noticed this with grim satisfaction even as the explosions and discord raged all around him. He banked his own ship around to lead his squadron for another pass, intent on making short work of the remaining invading forces. To his right, Gaanar was launching bolt after bolt of plasma, his whoops coming through the radio whenever he made a hit. Jango, too, was shooting into the line of _Kyr’tsad_ fighters, bringing them down one by one. 

***

Eventually, it seemed they had had enough. The few _Kyr’tsad_ ships formed up as if to make one last charge, but when they went streaking by—firing the whole time—they didn’t arc back. They broke from the conflict and climbed up and away, racing to get out of Ordo’s atmosphere. 

“Let ‘em go,” Jango ordered over the com when a few of his own started to pursue. “They’ll serve as a warning for Vizsla.”

There were a few responses of acknowledgment, and the ships slowly made their return to the clan’s hangar. As he circled overhead, Fett took in the carnage below. Several crash sites belched with smoke, a few bodies were scattered here and there, and one of the compound’s walls had taken some damage. It was far from the worst he had seen in his lifetime. They had taken some losses, there was no getting around that, but they seemed to be minimal. And they had turned back _Kyr’tsad,_ making Ordo’s stance definite and sending a message to the rest of the sector. There was plenty to celebrate after they had properly cared for the injured and the dead. 

However, there was still a warning in the back of his mind, reminding him not to let up. _This is just a test. Vizsla’s not going to underestimate us after this one—_ _he’ll start throwing everything he’s got at us._

* * *

On Mandalore’s moon Concordia, lamp-lit tents dotted the camp surrounding Tor Vizsla’s outpost. It had once been a fort for miners to use, but since he had seized control, it had been repurposed as a base for _Kyr’tsad_. More accurately, it was for the higher-ups in the chain of command; the rest of the troops had their own tents as barracks. Their numbers were too great even at this one station to all fit into one measly fort. 

The surviving pilots from the Ordo raid stood at attention on the main floor of the base now, watching the back of their leader with growing apprehension. He had been unnervingly silent as their commander gave his report on their defeat. Vizsla had yet to even turn from his holomap to look at them. 

“So,” he said finally, his voice sounding deceptively calm, a rusty purr instead of its usual outright growl, “you turned your backs and fled rather than fight to the end.”

The commander’s throat went dry as chalk. He licked his lips nervously. “I- yes, Lord Vizsla. We simply didn't have the numbers, and I believed it would be best if we lived to fight another day and bring this information to you,” he stammered. 

Every one of the pilots in the room felt their blood run cold as Tor Vizsla whipped around and fixed them with a murderous glare. 

“Oh you did, did you? And what kind of message do you think that sent to the rest of the sector?”

No one dared respond.

“Fortunately for you,” Vizsla continued, the venom leaking out of his tone slightly, “I _did_ want to know whether Fett was truly there, and your report confirmed that for me. So I will not have you executed this time.”

Commander Orin looked as though he might pass out in relief. 

“However, you have proven yourselves to be a bunch of _hut’uune_. To convince me otherwise, all of you will be placed on the front lines of every battle from here on out.” Apart from his obvious disdain, Vizsla was utterly indifferent as he sentenced them to their fates of becoming little more than cannon fodder. “You are dismissed.”

They shuffled out in silence, leaving the leader of _Kyr’tsad_ alone to his thoughts and schemes. It was good to have the location of his greatest threat, but the position of Fett's little pet—that Kryze girl—was still unknown. She could be an effective bargaining chip if he could get his hands on her, perhaps a source of information as well. Some... _persuasion_ could get her to loosen her tongue and spill Fett’s plans. She was just a child, after all, and a naive one at that with her ideals of peace. Having pacifistic tendencies was just another way of admitting weakness. 

There had been no mention of the girl or any _J_ _etiise_ in the commander’s report, but his friends in the Senate had been adamant that she had returned to Mandalore with Jedi protectors. Vizsla had no reason to doubt the intel. It was likely the duchess had been hiding somewhere inside Clan Ordo’s walls like the coward she was, too fragile to take part in the battle. Unless…

“Pre,” he said sharply to the soldier who had been waiting silently in the corner. “Get word out to all our stations in the sector that the duchess may be on the loose with two _J_ _etiise_. And while you’re out there, why don’t you bring in our guests—they might prove themselves to be most useful in this matter.”

The young man gave a wicked grin and nodded as he moved to pull his bucket over his head. “Right away, Uncle.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a!  
> "hibir" = "student"  
> "ad" = "son" (or "daughter," or "child," in other contexts)  
> "buir" = "father" (or "mother," or "parent," in other contexts)  
> "ner bajura" = "my teacher" (teacher is one of the words that I fudged a bit using the word "educate")  
> "kaysh hibir" = "his student"  
> "ni cabuo" = "I protect" (not sure if "cabuo" is grammatically correct, but it comes from "cabuor," which means "to protect")  
> "hut'unne" = "cowards" (one of the worst insults in Mando'a)
> 
> ******  
> As always, thank you thank you for reading, kudos-ing, and commenting!!! Y'all are the best


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!!! This update is coming up wayyyy later than I'd planned, so sorry for the delay, and thank you for your patience!!  
> Hoping to get the next chapter up in a more timely manner :)

After spending several weeks in close proximity to the duchess, Obi-Wan had become much more accustomed to her Force presence. That wasn’t to say, however, that he was any less aware of it. Even though it was subdued at the moment as she slept, he could still feel the distant glitter silently... beckoning him? _No_ , he quickly amended to himself—it was simply catching his attention. _That_ he could allow, given the unique quality of her signature in the Force. 

Obi-Wan pushed those ruminations from his mind; they would lead absolutely nowhere. His master was probably right in his theory that it was just a message from the Force telling them how necessary she was to bringing balance. It was simple, logical. He very well couldn’t turn into Qui-Gon right now and try to make something out of nothing, puzzling over some mystery within the Force when it wasn’t pertinent to the mission. After all, whenever his master did that, their assignments became far more complicated than they needed to be. 

So, instead, he gazed into the morning fog and reached out to see what else he could sense. He could feel Master Qui-Gon’s steady presence out there among the plants and animals, scouting out the boundaries of Clan Lok’s fort. He’d left before the sun rose and seemed to have covered a good distance since then. Obi-Wan had been awake to see him off, and decided to spend his time listening to the moon slowly wake up. It was peaceful, and even beautiful. Tendrils of sunlight refracted in the mist, birds trilled from the treetops, and the air still had the lingering chill from the night. The spicy scent from the tea he was brewing wafted over to him and he breathed in deeply. As he exhaled, he felt the duchess’ aura growing brighter and more alert, and he turned.

He was met by her clear blue eyes blinking sleepily at him from her bedroll, her sleep-mussed hair surrounding her face like a halo. His breath hitched. 

“Morning,” the duchess mumbled as she propped herself up on an elbow. Her voice was still a bit rough from sleep. Obi-Wan swallowed in an attempt to clear whatever had lodged itself so thoroughly in his throat. 

“Good morning, Duchess,” he managed to say, his voice surprisingly level.

She yawned and stretched, then sniffed at the air. “Mmm... that smells heavenly.”

“Oh! Yes, the tea.” He quickly rose to his feet and poured some into their camp mugs. By the time he’d finished, she was sitting all the way up and had wrapped her cloak around herself. 

" _Vor entye_ ,” she said, taking the mug with another soft hum of contentment. 

“Of course, Your Grace. I hope it’s to your liking.”

“Satine.”

Obi-Wan furrowed his brow in confusion and looked over at her. “I beg your pardon, Duchess?”

“My friends tend to call me Satine when it's just us,” she replied coolly, eyes on her tea as she blew gently at the steam. "You know, away from official diplomats and formal settings and whatnot."

“Are you saying we’re friends?” He couldn’t keep the mild amusement from his voice. And, judging by the quirk of her brow when she finally met his gaze, it hadn’t escaped her notice. 

“Well I’d certainly like to think so, wouldn’t you?”

“I suppose I would,” he conceded, his smile broadening. “But I can hardly forego your titles unless you start using my name, too.”

“It’s a deal then, _Obi-Wan_ ,” she said with a smirk. It faded after a moment, however, as she glanced around. “I take it Master Qui-Gon is off running surveillance?”

“He left just before dawn. He’ll com once he’s sure Death Watch isn’t at or around the clan’s base.” 

She nodded, her expression clouding and creases forming on her face as she got lost in her thoughts. Tension marred her imprint in the Force; Obi-Wan could feel the dark tendrils wrapping like weeds, dimming the rays of light. He let her sit for a moment, let her have some time to think, not sure if it would be proper for him to interrupt her contemplation. Then, he sucked in a breath and took the plunge. 

“Du- _Satine_.” Her eyes snapped over to his, the distant glassiness replaced by piercing attention. That shiver ran through him again, though whether it was the way her name— _just_ her name—felt on his lips or the electricity in her gaze, he couldn’t say. Maybe it was just the mist doing strange things to the air temperature. “You are their leader. They owe you their allegiance.”

“If I can convince them of it, that is,” she sighed, taking another sip of tea and running a hand through her unkempt hair. 

“You will.”

“What, did you have some sort of _J_ _etii_ vision?” It was only half a jest. 

“I don’t need one to tell me that they’ll listen,” he said, meeting her eyes. “It’s impossible for people not to listen when you speak. You have a rare gift, and I highly doubt that Clan Lok will be immune to it. Especially with the connection they already share with you.”

She blinked, evidently startled by the assurance in his tone. Obi-Wan wasn’t quite sure where the words came from, either, but they rang true—he found that he really did believe in Satine. He’d had his doubts before the mission, after reading transcriptions of her speeches riddled with seemingly naive pacifistic messages, but once he’d heard her in person he began to understand. There was deep faith in everything she said, a passion that came from the core of her very being, and it made her vision seem within reach rather than merely the far-fetched dreams of an idealist. 

“It seems _you_ have a way with words, too,” she said after a few moments. Her face had rearranged to a more neutral expression, suggesting she had recovered from the surprise. For a moment, he thought he saw a blush as she focused back on her tea, but then some of her hair fell beside her face and blocked her cheek and neck from view. 

“I merely speak the truth,” said Obi-Wan modestly. 

Satine met his eye again, the hint of a smile on her face. “Well, thank you, then.”

“Of course, Your- Satine.” 

She broke into a grin. 

***

By the time Satine had successfully cleaned up and made herself look as presentable as possible, Obi-Wan had received the all-clear signal from his master. The teens proceeded cautiously, somehow managing to avoid any patrols, and made it to Qui-Gon in a short amount of time. From there they pushed on to Clan Lok and came to a halt about a klik away, hidden from the view of any guards on the wall so they could take a moment to plan. 

As he listened to Master Qui-Gon’s recommendations of how to approach, Obi-Wan watched Satine out of the corner of his eye. She had set her jaw and raised her chin, her face steadily becoming more austere. It was something that was always part of her bearing, but it took over when she had to play the part of the duchess—she was Duchess Satine, now, not Just Satine. Obi-Wan was coming to realize that the duchess was part of Satine, but not all of Satine was present in the duchess.

“I think as long as you two keep your lightsabers tucked away, we shouldn’t have any trouble,” she was saying briskly as she adjusted her thick _beskar_ circlet and pulled her hood over her head. 

“Of course, Duchess,” replied Master Qui-Gon. However, he shot Obi-Wan a look that clearly said to be ready to take up their lightsabers the moment there was any sign of a threat. Satine didn’t notice. She had already turned to look at their destination, her hand absently brushing against the place on her hip where Obi-Wan knew her stun blaster was concealed by her cloak. “And you’re certain that simply walking over is the best decision?”

“Absolutely.” Her voice was clipped, authoritative. “Now, shall we?”

They were met by a squad of Mando guards when they neared the entrance to the fortress, and Obi-Wan watched them closely as they approached. He could feel their wariness and the undertones of danger that seemed to lurk in nearly every Mandalorian’s aura, but they didn’t seem as though they would attack immediately. That was no reason to be careless, however. His eyes flicked over to Satine, just ahead of himself and his master and placed between them. She was poised and unflinching, even as the guards stalked closer with definite menace in each stride. 

“Remove your hoods and state your business,” barked one of the dark green _beskar’gam_ -clad soldiers. All of them had drawn their blasters and had them trained on the trio. 

“I’m here to request an audience with Lord Ivan and Lady Regina of Clan Lok,” said Satine after carefully removing her hood and letting her arms fall to her sides, palms facing up in a subtle sign of goodwill. 

“And who are you to request such an audience?” asked the same soldier brusquely. 

Satine startled, leaning back slightly for a moment, and Obi-Wan had to admit he was rather astonished as well. It wasn’t as though she had gone entirely off the radar during her more recent time on Coruscant—he’d learned at Clan Ordo that she had transmitted several holovideos denouncing Death Watch and encouraging her people during that year. That was part of why Fett had been so keen on getting her as the _Jorad’alor_ , why so many people saw her as a sign of hope. Perhaps all of her transmissions really had been blocked on Zanbar, not just the later ones. Otherwise, Obi-Wan would think she ought to be easily recognizable, in both looks and voice, to most Mandalorians. 

“I need a name, girl,” said the guard, annoyance dripping in his tone. 

Satine opened her mouth to respond when another soldier called down from the top of the wall, causing them all to look up. 

“Oi, Besh, what’s the trouble?” 

“This girl wants to see our leaders but won’t give a name,” the guard—Besh, apparently—called back, keeping his blaster trained on Satine. There was a brief moment of silence as the soldier on the wall seemed to look at them more closely.

“Shit—Besh, get them inside right now, you absolute _di’kut_!”

“What?” he pulled his blaster back hesitantly and glanced up to look at his comrade. 

“ _Copaani mirshmure'cye, vod?_ Just do it now!”

The soldier disappeared, and Besh motioned for the trio to follow him. Judging by his body language, however, he wasn’t particularly pleased about it. Satine bowed her head and thanked him quietly as the entrance opened before them. The three travelers walked through, and were immediately hailed by a woman coming down the steps from the wall, presumably the soldier who had spoken to Besh. Helmet tucked under her arm, she offered a stiff bow to Satine when she reached them, though her face was grim.

“I suggest you put your hood back up, Duchess. No telling who might rat you out to keep us on _Kyr’tsad’s_ good side.”

Satine hurriedly followed the directive, and Obi-Wan noticed that her hand went to her hip again, perhaps as reassurance. Without thinking, he moved a bit closer to her, as if he could put himself between her and the entirety of Clan Lok. He had the distinct impression that they had just walked into what could well be a nest of sleeping gundarks, and that one wrong move would put the entire compound in an uproar. 

“I’ll bring you to the lord and lady, but I wouldn’t expect a warm welcome,” the soldier warned in a low tone as she led them toward the central building, which had been partially built into the rocky wall of a larger plateau. “Your presence here brings a great deal of danger.”

Satine simply nodded, keeping her gaze ahead and her gait steady. Obi-Wan edged closer to his master but didn’t look away from the duchess in front of him, nor the soldier a few paces ahead of her. 

“Master, are you sure this is a good idea? I have a bad feeling about this,” he whispered.

“Patience, Obi-Wan,” murmured Qui-Gon. “Release your anxieties into the Force.”

Obi-Wan tried to do that, but couldn’t manage to completely shake the uneasiness that clung to his skin. He didn’t have long to think about it, though, because they soon were mounting the steps to the building, and then passing through the entryway. 

Just inside was a group of armored Mandalorians having some sort of tense discussion that abruptly ended at their arrival. All of Mandos had their helmets tucked under their arms, so Obi-Wan could see the suspicion in their faces as they all turned to stare. A few of them had reached for their blasters, too, only to pause when they recognized the soldier in front. 

“Lord Ivan, Lady Regina, you have a request for an audience,” said their escort as she bowed. 

The cluster parted to reveal a man and woman in slightly more decorative _beskar’gam_. Both had streaks of gray in their hair, but their gazes were sharp and their expressions stern. 

“And _who_ , exactly, has made such a request, Captain?” asked Lord Ivan, drawing himself up and peering at the trio with narrowed eyes. 

The captain looked over her shoulder at Satine then back to her lord. “Perhaps it would be better kept a private matter, sir.”

He grunted and motioned for the group around him and his wife to leave. They squeezed out the door past Obi-Wan, who maintained his place between them and Satine while Qui-Gon stood patiently on her other side. Obi-Wan followed his master’s lead and didn’t meet any of the curious glances that were cast in their direction. 

When the doors clanged shut, Satine drew back her hood and stepped forward. “Lady Regina, Lord Ivan, I hope you will do me the honor of allowing me to speak with you as the _Jorad’alor_ of our people and an ambassador of our _Mand’alor_ Jango Fett.”

Her voice was even and resonant, full of the confidence a more seasoned politician might have. But before she got even halfway through speaking, the feeling of the room shifted. The air seemed to be silently screaming for caution. Whatever Satine had expected, whatever bond she thought existed from her brother’s marriage to Malya, there was no sense of affection coming from the heads of Clan Lok; there was only a deep bitterness. Something must have gone very, very wrong, without Satine knowing. 

Both Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon felt it and stepped forward to flank the duchess, just as Lady Regina let out a humorless laugh.

“Well, _Duchess_ Satine. You certainly have some nerve coming here, after everything your family has cost us.”

Beside him, Obi-Wan felt Satine’s body go rigid.

* * *

“Master Windu!”

Mace should have expected his trip to the Archives to include an ambush by Tahl, but he still grimaced to himself as he turned toward her desk. 

“Master Tahl, Master Tholme,” he bowed to each in turn. “How are you?”

“Quite well, thank you,” said Tholme. 

“Well, thank you. Has there been any news from Mandalore?” Tahl asked casually. 

Mace closed his eyes and let out a long exhale. When he looked up again, both Tahl and Tholme were watching him expectantly. He really, _really_ should have been prepared for this. 

“Updates are scarce and whatever is coming in is staying strictly amongst the Council. Our contacts have made it clear that they are _barely_ trusting us, and we can’t afford to lose that.”

Tahl crossed her arms, and Tholme leaned back against the desk. Neither of them seemed particularly pleased with his response, but Mace had grown accustomed to withholding information from his friends. That was simply what it meant to be on the Jedi Council. Sometimes, keeping things classified was necessary. 

“Yes, well,” Tholme drawled with a sigh, “we only ask for the sakes of our padawans. They are rather close with Padawan Kenobi and are simply concerned about his well-being.”

Mace pinched the bridge of his nose and glowered at the two of them. “And here I thought I was done with manipulative bastards for the day when I left the Senate.”

“Telling us if Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan are still alive is hardly something that could compromise the duchess’ mission, Mace,” said Tahl in that calm, reasonable way of hers. She showed no sign of any of her own anxieties, although Mace knew they were likely there, buried somewhere deep. He wasn’t about to delve into that, however. 

“Fine,” he said after a moment. “The last we heard from them was about a week ago and Padawan Kenobi had the feeling something bad was coming. We haven’t been able to get in contact with Qui-Gon since then, but have been led to believe that it should be no cause for concern.”

“I see.” Tahl nodded in acceptance, the corners of her mouth tipping downward ever so slightly. “Thank you.”

There was clearly something that was bothering her still, maybe she had sensed something in the Force that no one else had, but Mace didn’t ask. He wasn’t sure if he really wanted to know—not when there was nothing they could do.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a!  
> "vor entye" = "thank you" (lit. "I accept a debt")  
> "di'kut" = "idiot" (apparently the literal translation is "someone who forgets to put their pants on" which is such a mood??)  
> "Copaani mirshmure'cye, vod?" = "are you looking for a smack in the face, mate?"
> 
> As always, thank you SO much for reading, kudos-ing, and commenting!! Y'all are awesome


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I hope you're willing to bear with me through this chapter.... thank you in advance :) Not gonna say more cause spoilers and all that, but I left some notes about it at the end.

Shock. Hurt. Confusion. Doubt. Anger. 

The emotions all swirled in Satine’s chest as she stood unmoving before Lord Ivan and Lady Regina, too quickly to make sense of them. Master Jinn and Obi-Wan were on either side of her, now, stalwartly protecting her even though she had blindly led them into this. 

“If it hadn’t been for your brother,” said Lady Regina, continuing on when she was met by silence, “our daughter would still be here with her clan.”

Another shot of alarm flashed through Satine’s body. 

“What do you mean?” The words spilled out, urgent and jarring even to her own ears. 

“Don’t act the _or’dinii_ with us, Duchess,” snapped Lord Ivan. His lip was curled into a sneer as he glared at her. 

Beside her, Satine felt Obi-Wan shift slightly, and in her periphery she could see that his jaw was clenched tight. Even though she hadn’t taught him that word, he seemed to get the gist of the insult. 

“If something has happened to Malya, please tell me,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady against her rising trepidation. 

Lady Regina scoffed. “You expect us to believe you didn’t know about her condition?”

_What?_

Satine’s mind went blank. Then it began reeling. The floor seemed to tilt and it took all her willpower to stay upright. 

“Her… condition,” she finally managed. Somehow, she didn’t sound like she had completely lost her sense. She felt like she had. There was only one thing they could be meaning right now, but it didn't seem true. 

“They didn’t tell you?” asked Lord Ivan. A small amount of the edge in his voice had shaded into surprise, but not much. 

“No,” said Satine hollowly, but then the desperation rose up again and she couldn’t hold back. “Where is she? Is she safe? And the child?”

“She’s fine. They both are,” said Lady Regina, still maintaining her imperious demeanor. “As to her whereabouts, I’m not inclined to share that with you if she didn’t see fit to tell you she was expecting in the first place.”

“You’ve already put us all at risk by your very presence here, and we are not about to allow you to endanger our daughter and her son in the same way,” added Lord Ivan as he crossed his arms. 

Her son. _And Tomar’s_. 

“It was not my intent to endanger you nor your clan, and if you seek to preserve the secrecy of Malya’s location, so be it. But you _will_ remember that that boy is Tomar’s son, too. He is as much my family as he is yours.”

Indignation had stoked a fire within Satine and she felt anchored once more, no longer buffeted about by the new revelations. The fervor, the purpose—all of it began to return to her. 

“Your brother left our grandson without a father before he even came into the world. He left Malya to raise Korkie _on her own,_ ” spat Lady Regina. 

“Don’t you _dare_ blame Tomar for his own murder,” Satine said, her voice fierce even as part of her faltered at hearing the boy’s name. “You and I both know who is to blame, and it is not me nor my family. Your resentment is better spent directed at _Kyr’tsad_.”

“We’ve heard the little speeches you gave from Coruscant, Duchess. There’s no need to tell us what you think of _Kyr’tsad._ But you’ll forgive us for not having much faith in a pacifist to bring them to justice,” said Lord Ivan scathingly. 

This was precisely the opening Satine had been waiting for. She had enough of her wits still about her to strike. 

“Have you no faith in our _Mand’alor_ , My Lord?” 

Lord Ivan’s face grew purple and Lady Regina’s mouth tightened into a thin line at the challenge to their honor. They were people of tradition, Satine knew, and would not lightly defy the expectation that they respect their _Mand’alor_. Not outwardly declaring support for the rightful ruler was risky enough as it was, but to admit a lack of confidence in Fett would be just short of treason. 

“Of course we have faith in the _Mand’alor_ ,” Lady Regina hissed. 

“Then join us,” said Satine, stepping forward and spreading her arms. “Seek justice for Malya and for Korkie, and for everyone else who has suffered at the hands of _Kyr’tsad._ Help us make Mandalore a place that will survive to see better days. Help us make it a place that Malya and Korkie can return to without fear of being killed. Don't you think they deserve that?”

“You think it is so easy? Have you forgotten what happened to your clan, Duchess? Look where showing even the smallest amount of resistance got them,” said Lady Regina. 

“I could never forget. But that is why the clans need to stand together now; if we rise up under Jango Fett’s banner we can defeat Vizsla and his forces. Unity is what will save us.”

The lord and lady studied her for a moment, and Satine kept herself as still as she could, refusing to break under their gazes. They exchanged a look with one another, then refocused on Satine. 

“While we have our differences with you, you are the _Jorad’alor_ , and we will provide you with rooms for the night. We will speak with the clan tomorrow morning,” said Lord Ivan stiffly. “You’re right that something must be done about _Kyr’tsad_. But we cannot promise that our clan will choose to stand beside you and _Mand’alor_ Fett.”

Satine snuck a glance at Master Jinn, who offered her a subtle nod. Then she swept into a graceful bow. “My companions and I thank you for your kind hospitality, Lord and Lady Lok.”

_At least it’s a start._

***

In the guest quarters, Qui-Gon had gone to his and Obi-Wan’s bedroom to meditate, leaving Satine with Obi-Wan in the central sitting room. She slowly made her way around the space, taking in the furniture and architecture as she went. It was simple in decoration, much like military barracks, but she didn’t mind. She traced feather-light fingers across the window sill as she looked out at the grounds and watched the guards on the fortress walls. This all felt almost surreal, like all that had just happened was an odd dream she was still waking from. 

A hand gently grasped her elbow. “Satine,” said Obi-Wan in a low voice, “are you alright?”

The urge to reach out and smooth the concerned lines that were etched into his face washed over her, nearly overwhelming her, but she resisted. Instead, she took his hand that was still on her arm and gave it a soft squeeze. His hand was warm and dry in her own, calloused and strong from his lightsaber, and Satine found it was rather difficult to muster the willpower to let it go. 

“I am, thank you,” she said with a smile, and, to her embarrassment, she felt the beginnings of tears in her eyes. 

Even as she loosened her grip on his hand, he seemed to reflexively tighten his as he stepped a bit closer. His brow furrowed even more. She couldn’t remember ever seeing him this closely before, and a small part of her mind wondered why not, why it had taken so long for truly look at him and be this near to him. It wasn’t an unpleasant experience—quite the opposite, really. 

“Are you sure?”

“ _K_ _a’ra_ , yes.” She let out a quiet, wobbly laugh as she wiped at her eyes with her free hand. Her gaze couldn’t stay away from his for long, though; his stormy blue eyes were like magnets to her own as they searched her face for some explanation. She captured his forearm in a loose grip—both her hands were touching him now, and his warmth was slowly spreading up her arms in an indescribably delicious way that she couldn’t begin to make sense of—and he slowly twisted it so that he was holding on to hers in return. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end at the contact. “Obi-Wan, it's not just me anymore. I still have _family_ somewhere out there.”

“It seems you do.” His expression softened and he seemed to relax a bit, glancing down at their hands then looking back into her eyes. “I’m very glad for you. Truly.”

“Thank you,” said Satine, ducking her head briefly. “I know we didn’t have quite the welcome I’d hoped for, but still… this is _some_ thing, isn’t it?”

Obi-Wan nodded thoughtfully as he turned his focus to the window to observe the clan members milling about. “It is, yes. I think they will take your side, once they’ve been able to move themselves past their pain. And I sense their people are ready to take a stand.” 

That kindled some hope. If the people of Clan Lok sided with her, it wouldn't really matter that Lord Ivan and Lady Regina held a personal grudge against her family. They would have to set it aside for the good of their clan. 

Satine turned as well, and their hands slipped away from each other. Her skin still tingled where his hands had been. Unconsciously, she rubbed at the place on her forearm, and wondered if he felt this withdrawal, too. Was this just the effect that Jedi had? Was it the feeling of the Force running through his very veins? 

Then, she caught herself and shoved those thoughts far from her mind. This was a mission and it required her total focus. Saving Mandalore, saving the _Mando’ade_ ; building a Mandalore that could last. Those were the things that ought to occupy her thoughts. 

The image of a tiny boy with her brother’s hair—blond highlighted with hints of red—entered her head, unbidden. _Korkie_. He deserved to return to a safe home, and she would move the stars themselves to make that possible for him. She prayed that the other side of his family would do the same. 

* * *

The next morning, their quarters were heavy with tension. Qui-Gon could feel Satine’s nerves buzzing through the Force as they waited; she was pacing and twining her hands together, unable to stay in one spot for long. Although food had been brought to their suite, she had barely touched it while he and Obi-Wan had eaten their portions and gently encouraged her to do the same. Qui-Gon had then settled himself in a chair to check his datapad, on the off-chance of any news. 

He had just found information on some recently-passed trade legislature that could effect several of the galaxy’s sectors, including Mandalore, when he heard Obi-Wan get up from his seat. His padawan met his eye, shot a significant look toward where the duchess stood restlessly plucking at a thread on her sleeve by the window, then returned his gaze to Qui-Gon’s with a raised eyebrow. Qui-Gon merely shrugged and began to revert his focus to his datapad, but watched Obi-Wan out of the corner of his eye.

“Duchess,” the young man said quietly, catching the duchess’ hand and gently drawing it away from the thread to rest by her side instead. “ _Udesii_.”

It was a word he had learned quite a few days before, and had learned to say correctly, but this time the pronunciation was off. On purpose, Qui-Gon suspected. 

“ _Oo-day-see_ ,” the duchess corrected, drawing out each syllable. 

Obi-Wan gave her a small smile and leaned against the window sill, partially blocking her view. That, too, was likely an intentional move to distract her. His padawan was getting rather crafty, it seemed. “Well, it seems that perhaps I may need some more practice. Would you perhaps be willing to assist me with that, _ner bajura be Mando’a_?”

She gave a wry chuckle in return, and the corner of her mouth twisted upward. “Fine, _J_ _etii_ , you win.”

Qui-Gon stifled a smile of his own. It was nice to see Obi-Wan learning to use the subtle misdirections necessary in politics. He had a feeling his padawan would be quite adept at aiding in diplomatic affairs one day. 

A few hours had passed before there was, at last, a knock on the doors and they hissed open to reveal the captain of the guard. She pulled off her helmet and bowed. There was a glitter of excitement in her eyes. 

“Duchess Satine, Clan Lok is prepared to formally pledge itself to you and _Mand’alor_ Fett.”

The duchess sprang up from the sofa where she was seated with Obi-Wan. Her face was flushed with triumph as she quickly made her way over to the door. 

“This is wonderful! Thank you, Captain Hast,” the duchess said, dipping into a shallow curtsy. 

“They would like to see you for themselves, Your Grace. If you’ll follow me?” 

The duchess glanced back at Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan, who exchanged a look then both gave her a small nod. No sign of deception in the Force. 

“Of course,” the duchess confirmed.

Captain Hast led them through the hallway and down the stairs, the duchess right behind her and the Jedi lingering a respectful few paces behind. It was clear that the duchess was impatient and forcing herself to keep her steps at a brisk but steady pace. Had she been alone, Qui-Gon imagined she would have broken into a run.

When they reached the large front doors of the building, Captain Hast forced them open, allowing the hazy sunlight to filter through. The duchess pulled back her shoulders and stepped forward after her, followed by Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan. 

A roar filled the courtyard as the duchess passed through the doors, the noise echoing off of the stone walls, mingling with the clamor of gloved fists beating against armored chests and stamping boots. 

“ _Oya manda!_ ” several soldiers shouted, joined by a few calls of “ _Jorad’alor!_ ” and “Duchess Satine!”

When the cries died down, the duchess took another few steps forward so she was right at the top of the steps. 

“ _Vode_ ,” she said, projecting her voice as much as she could without yelling. “ _Ner vode!_ ” A few cheers interrupted her again, and she paused until things quieted once again. “Together, we will take Mandalore back from the clutches of _Kyr’tsad_ —together, we will bring hope and prosperity to our homes! This is my promise, and our _Mand’alor_ ’s promise: that we will fight for all _Mando’ade_ with everything that we have. We will defend you, even as you seek to defend us.” She pressed a fist to her heart, and called out loudly over the crowd three final words in a tone that seemed to come from deep within her being. “ _Haat, Ijaa, Haa’it!_ ” 

The answering echo of the pledge from the Mandos was something primal, as if the voices of ancient warriors had joined in. Qui-Gon fixed his gaze on the duchess; she had touched the very souls of these people, it seemed, with these few words. How, he was not entirely sure, but there was no denying she had a sort of sway over masses of people. He’d seen it in the Senate, too, how people couldn’t help but feel her words in their bones and be stirred into action.

His eyes flicked over to his padawan. There was a peculiar expression on his face, a sort of pride mixed with awe, and Qui-Gon felt as though a weight had just dropped into his stomach. 

He knew that look all too well, but he had never before had he seen it on Obi-Wan.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay sooooo yes Korkie really *is* Satine's nephew in this story -- I apologize if you are a die-hard fan of the Korkie Kenobi theory!! I have a lot of future plans for this story with Satine and Obi-Wan that already has enough angst/feels and I want to explore those without a secret lovechild in the mix, if that makes sense, and I want to be able to look at the aunt-nephew relationship between Satine and Korkie later on too and see how she deals with basically a miniature version of her brother.  
> This isn't to say I'm against the Korkie Kenobi theory or anything! It's just that it's not going to be in this story. Although, I wouldn't rule out some freaking adorable bonding moments between Satine and Korkie, or even between Obi-Wan and Korkie ;)
> 
> Thank you for bearing with me!
> 
> Mando'a!  
> "or'dinii" = "fool" or "moron"  
> "ka'ra" = "stars" (ancient Mandalorian myths say the stars are the ruling council of fallen kings)  
> "udesii" = relax  
> "ner bajura be Mando'a" = "my teacher of Mando'a"  
> "oya manda!" = expression of Mandalorian solidarity, very emotive  
> "Ner vode" = "my brothers and sisters" or "my comrades"  
> "Haat, Ijaa, Haa'it" = "Truth, Honor, Vision" (said when sealing a pact)
> 
> *******  
> It's nice that things are going so well for them, huh? Would be a bummer if things started to get a bit.... dangerous. I hear Death Watch is out and about.  
> *******  
> As always, thank you for reading, kudos-ing, and commenting!! Y'all are the best :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooooooooweeeee it's chapter 10 and I'm excited to reach this benchmark! Thanks for being patient with me as I took my time getting this one posted :) Hope you enjoy!

Qui-Gon felt his lungs expand and contract with the pulse of the Living Force, slow and deep. The sky was still an ashy indigo in these early hours as the sun was just beginning to think of rising. Obi-Wan and the duchess were still fast asleep, too, and he brushed against their dormant impressions in the Force; the river of his padawan was subdued, the current hardly there, and the constellation of the duchess was nearly invisible. _Good_ , thought Qui-Gon. They had handled the stress of meeting with Clan Lok and the physical taxation of traveling very well, but they were still young, still needed to rest whenever they could. 

He was beginning to wonder, though, if he was fretting a bit too much over his padawan. Obi-Wan was on the cusp of being an adult and was nearing the time to take the Trials to become a knight. Time after time, the boy had proven himself mature beyond his years—strong of character, strong of body, and strong in the Force. Why, then, was Qui-Gon jumping at shadows? 

_You’re projecting your own insecurities onto your padawan_ , said a voice in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like Tahl. He wanted to deny it, but it was true. She _would_ know, though, wouldn’t she? The pair of them knew the dangers of attachment all too well, and both of them were hyperaware of it in others. What he’d seen in Obi-Wan was just his fear getting the better of him—his fear that his padawan would follow his lead and get attached, but not be able to toe the line. There was a reason it was discouraged for Jedi. It was better to avoid it altogether than teach how to not allow it to get in the way of their duty. And if Qui-Gon was being honest, he wasn’t sure he was prepared to teach others how to walk that path. He wasn’t sure if _he_ was even adept at walking it himself. 

But the Force had been nothing but content and at ease when he focused on their little trio, and Qui-Gon was able to relax. No doubt his padawan had just been caught up with the duchess’ short speech as the Mandos of Can Lok. Perhaps the undercurrent of stress in this mission was getting under his skin more than he realized.

He reached deep within his bones with each inhale, and with each exhale purged himself of the fear trying to take root. 

The sun still hadn’t risen when Obi-Wan’s signature in the Force sprang to life, knocking Qui-Gon from his meditations. He hadn’t felt anything off, but then again, it wouldn’t be the first time his padawan felt something he didn’t. 

“What is it, Obi-Wan?”

His padawan was already crouched beside his bedroll and beginning to pack it away. Obi-Wan was just a shadow, but when he looked up, Qui-Gon could see there was a steely glow in his eyes. “We need to get moving. I sense danger coming our way.”

Qui-Gon didn’t respond, just got to his feet and crossed over to the sleeping duchess. She woke with a start when he placed a hand on her shoulder, immediately seizing his hand in a surprisingly tight grip. Her eyes flew open, and when they focused on him, she snatched back her hand. 

“Time to get going, Duchess,” he said simply as he straightened up again and turned to gather his belongings. 

“Is there something wrong?” she asked over the rustling of fabric. Evidently she was complying despite her questions. 

“Obi-Wan sensed unwelcome company on the horizon.”

He heard her stop moving for a moment, then resume. “I see.”

“Do you have an idea of how much time we have, Obi-Wan?”

“No,” said the padawan, who had moved on to stamping out the coals of their small fire from the previous night and disguise any evidence of having been there. “But I think we’d better be quick about it.”

The duchess had gotten to her feet and was adjusting the straps of her backpack. “Shall we go, then?”

Qui-Gon was quietly relieved with the speed of her preparation. He had to admit, there was something to be said for the efficiency that Mandalorian training instilled in its people. As he started heading in the direction of their ship at a brisk gait, he could hear the duchess following behind, her steps more hurried to keep up with his long stride. Had the circumstances been different, he would have perhaps slowed to accommodate her, but they didn’t have that luxury. The duchess would be fine. And besides, Qui-Gon doubted that she would admit it if she found the pace a challenge. Her stubbornness would be rather useful in putting distance between themselves and whatever threat was coming. 

“You do have your stun blaster readily available, right?” said Obi-Wan in a low voice as he fell into step with the duchess. 

“Yes. Do you truly think I’ll need it?”

“I can’t say for sure, but it would be better if you have it on hand. Master Qui-Gon and I will defend you from whatever or whoever it is, of course, but if you want to minimize the damage…”

“Then I’ll need to stun them,” she finished grimly. “Very well.”

  
  


It didn’t take long for the spine-tingling sound of baying to reach their ears, causing them all to freeze for a moment and listen.

“Anoobas,” said the duchess in a hushed tone. She glanced over her shoulder nervously as if one might burst through the bushes behind them, even though their cries were still a ways away. 

The three were no strangers to the distant mournful cries of anoobas at night, but these had a different tone. More ravenous, more predatory. When Qui-Gon reached out with the Force, he was met by the growing sense of bestial furor.

“They must be on the hunt,” said Obi-Wan.

“And getting closer,” agreed Qui-Gon. “Which does not bode well for us. Duchess, are you able to keep going? We’ll need to pick up the pace.”

His query had the desired effect—indignation flared from her and a hard glint entered her gaze. He ignored his padawan’s reproachful expression in response to his choice of tactics. Obi-Wan would learn in time that sometimes the best way to ensure a person’s survival was to get them riled up a little bit. There was a purpose to it.

“Of course I can,” sniffed the duchess. 

Qui-Gon nodded and set off again, plunging further into the dense stretch of swampy vegetation they had been trekking through. While this area provided good tree cover, it was decidedly not their best bet if they were being tracked by scent. They needed to get out in the open where the wind could carry it away, and they needed to get there long before the anoobas caught up. Ideally, they would be able to reach their ship before then, but that slim possibility was getting whittled down further by the minute. Their second-best option was to be beyond sight by the time the anoobas got to the other side of the forest and have their scent be scrambled by all the other odors of the terrain that the wind carried. Third-best, they found a good place to hide or stand and fight. 

He systematically worked through the possibilities. If it was just anoobas, Qui-Gon liked their chances, but he knew better than to be so optimistic. They had to be prepared for the beasts to have masters, and they had to be prepared for those masters to be Death Watch warriors. That would mean evasion wasn’t much of an option; most Mandos had jetpacks, so hiding at the top of a plateau wouldn’t be as protective as it would be if it was just a wild pack of anoobas. It wouldn’t do to have the duchess climb up while he and Obi-Wan stayed below to fend their pursuers off, either, because that would leave her open to attack. He briefly considered sending the teens ahead while he stayed to fight, but then dismissed the idea. From the sounds of it, there were maybe five or six anoobas on their trail, and Force knew how many Mandos. Even though he was a Jedi master, he knew he wouldn’t be able to delay them for long, and it would just mean Obi-Wan and the duchess were more vulnerable when the hunters finally caught them. 

A feral howl echoed through the trees. It was still distant, but undeniably closer than earlier. 

“Obi-Wan, Duchess, I want you both ahead of me,” said Qui-Gon firmly. 

Neither one questioned his directive, nor did they need any prompting to move faster. Obi-Wan shot him a glance as he passed by and nodded as if he’d gotten confirmation of something, but didn’t say a word.

Qui-Gon flicked his gaze over the scenery behind them before refocusing on their bushwhacked path forward. No visible sign of the pack yet, but time was running out. Up ahead, Obi-Wan still hadn’t drawn his lightsaber, which was somewhat of a comfort as it meant he hadn’t sensed something that Qui-Gon missed. He did, however, keep twitching his head slightly from side to side as he stayed alert for any sudden movements or sounds. Occasionally, he looked back to check on the duchess, but she was faring well by Qui-Gon’s estimation. She was just on Obi-Wan’s heels and seemingly in-tune with their surroundings, as well. Heightened sense of survival instincts—one of the strange few ways that the Mandalorians and the Jedi were alike. 

The two skirted around the edge of a fallen tree and continued onward. As Qui-Gon passed it, he gathered the Force around him and shifted it to lay across their trail. It wasn’t much, really, but it was a large enough trunk that it could offer some obstruction without it costing him anything. 

_Use your surroundings wisely, Padawan_ , his master had told him all those years ago, a mild rebuke for some blunder or oversight Qui-Gon could no longer remember. _The Force grants small gifts to those who use their wits and are diligent in observation._ He didn’t think this quite met Master Dooku’s standard of “using his wits,” but Qui-Gon took the fallen tree as a gift from the Force all the same. 

The greenery steadily grew thinner as they progressed, and finally petered out to give way to the vast arid expanse that made up the majority of Zanbar’s surface. They paused for one brief scan of the space, determined it safe enough, then took off again. Obi-Wan glanced back and met Qui-Gon’s eye. The young man’s jaw was tight as he looked past Qui-Gon toward the trees, the wind whipping at his robes and braid. 

“Master, I think we should make a break for the plateaus up ahead,” he called. “We’re too exposed out here.” 

It _was_ rather open at the moment, and it wouldn’t matter that the wind had covered their tracks and scents because they would be easily visible if they didn’t get to the rockier areas soon. Qui-Gon could feel the presences of the anoobas now without reaching for them, as well as the faint sense of humanoids. No doubt Obi-Wan felt them, too. 

“Good thinking, Padawan.”

“Ready to go, Duchess?” 

“Ready if you are,” she said as Obi-Wan reached back and tugged her by the hand into a light run.

Qui-Gon followed, matching their pace a few strides behind. It wasn’t a hard pace for him or Obi-Wan, they certainly could have gone faster had it just been the two of them, but there was the duchess to consider. Despite the fact she was fit to a degree that admittedly had surprised Qui-Gon, she lacked the years of rigorous Jedi training and wellspring of energy in the Force that Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan could rely on. They needed to make sure her stamina wouldn’t be utterly spent by the time they reached the plateaus. At this point, it was becoming clear that a physical confrontation was inevitable. 

The rocky outcroppings loomed ever closer, spurring them onward. He could feel the duchess’ energy starting to flag, but she obstinately continued to run at the same pace, keeping herself even with Obi-Wan. 

They were almost at the first mesa’s shadow. If it weren’t for the threat of Death Watch and carnivorous beasts behind them, Qui-Gon might have suggested they rested for a moment in the shade. The wind, relentless as it was, provided little relief from the blazing midday sun overhead. 

Yips, snarls, and the mingling prolonged cries of what he now realized were likely the alpha male and female of the anooba pack carried across the flat stretch of land. And underneath that din, Qui-Gon could hear the unmistakable whine of a speeder. He chanced a look back and could make out the shapes of figures in front of the forest and the plumes of dust being kicked up. 

“They’re getting close!” he shouted up ahead, even though he knew Obi-Wan was likely already keenly aware. The duchess, not breaking her stride, glanced back and her eyes widened. 

“ _Osik_ ,” he heard her say, the curse almost drowned out by the wind. Then Obi-Wan grabbed her hand once more and pulled her along, moving with greater speed. 

They blew past the first plateau, then another, until they were amidst a thick maze of them. Only then did Obi-Wan come to a halt. The duchess placed a hand against one of the rough stone faces and leaned heavily against it, wiping sweat off her brow as she gulped for air. Qui-Gon, too, found himself breathing somewhat hard, and even Obi-Wan sounded slightly winded when he spoke. 

“I’m not sure that we’re going to find a much better place than here,” he said, taking in their surroundings. They were by one of the larger outcroppings—wide enough to provide decent coverage to have at their backs and prevent any sneak attacks. It was as good a place as any to take a stand. Not to mention, there was little point in further exhausting the duchess before she had to defend herself. 

Qui-Gon lowered himself to the ground, crossing his legs and resting his hands on his knees. If they were going to wait, he would make use of the time. 

The Force swept up to meet him as he closed his eyes. 

* * *

Obi-Wan almost felt like laughing when Satine turned her bewildered gaze from the back of Qui-Gon’s head to him. Almost. Given their current situation, and feeling her poorly-smothered fear, he couldn’t even bring himself to smile. He was used to this sort of behavior from his master—had begrudgingly adapted to it and even admitted there was some amount of wisdom to it—but he was very aware that most sentient beings weren’t exactly instilled with confidence when their protector dropped into meditation while their bloodthirsty enemies closed in. 

“What is he _doing_?” she hissed. 

“Preparing himself, don’t worry,” Obi-Wan said, crossing over to her. “He’ll bring himself out of it before they arrive.” 

Satine just stared at him. 

He sighed and placed his hands on her shoulders, looking directly into her eyes. “Trust me, he does this all the time.”

Her mouth tightened fractionally, but she nodded. Satisfied, Obi-Wan gave her shoulders a squeeze, then stepped back and shifted his bag to the ground. He pulled off his robe and was about to tuck it into the backpack when an idea struck him. 

“Here, put this on,” he said as he thrust the robe into her hands. 

“What?”

“It’s not as nice as your cloak, less distinct.”

“Well anyone can see that, Obi-Wan. Your point?” She was looking at him skeptically, then comprehension dawned on her face. “ _Oh._ Do you really think they would fall for it though?”

“It’s worth a shot,” he replied with a shrug while she pulled her arms through the sleeves of his robe. It was a bit large on him, so it was even more so on her, but she didn’t seem to mind. 

“Whatever you say, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

He gave her a small smile as he pulled the hood over her head. “Just keep your head down. And keep a hand on your blaster.”

“And what will you and Master Jinn be doing?” 

“Assuming we don’t get torn to pieces by the anoobas, we’ll handle the situation.”

“How pleasant,” she said dryly.

Obi-Wan had just tucked his lightsaber up into his sleeve when the very clear sounds of scrabbling and growls from the anoobas met his ears, along with screeching of the speeder. They were nearly on top of them now. Beside him, Satine tensed, and a few paces away, Master Qui-Gon was rising to his feet. The tall Jedi looked them over, nodded in approval, and moved his own lightsaber so that it was hidden in the folds of his robe. 

“Steady now,” he said in a low voice as the pack came into view. 

The anoobas drew near in a semi-circle, their jaws snapping and salivating as they prowled closer. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon positioned themselves between the creatures and Satine, none of them drawing their weapons but taking up defensive stances all the same. Even though Obi-Wan could feel their foul, humid breath on his skin, the anoobas seemed to be hesitating, unwilling to actually attack until the order came. 

He carefully switched his gaze from the anoobas to the speeder as it stopped in front of them. Five _Kyr’tsad_ commandos were in it, each of them with at least two blasters on their person.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” asked one of the warriors, his voice undeniably deep even through his bucket’s modulator. 

“We’re travelers, and we mean no harm,” said Qui-Gon. “If we are trespassing, I apologize.”

A few laughs came from the speeder and Obi-Wan felt Satine’s fear spike for a moment. He shifted slightly closer to her, eliciting a low rumble from the anooba nearest to him. 

“Travelers, huh? Don’t get many of those any more,” said the same warrior as before. “I’m afraid we’ll have to check your things. It’s custom, you know.” He nodded at two of the commandos to his right, who hopped out of the speeder and approached with a confident swagger. 

“You’ll find nothing of use from us. It’s best if you call off your anoobas and leave,” said Qui-Gon calmly, moving his hand in a small, slight wave. 

Alarm burst from Satine’s presence, now, and Obi-Wan prayed she wouldn’t raise her head high enough for her face to be visible, no matter how surprised she was at Qui-Gon’s not-so-subtle words. 

The Force suggestion seemed to work. The two Mandos paused, uncertainty in their postures, and the warrior who had spoken whistled for the anoobas. The beasts slowly backed away in a resentful manner, giving them all the chance to breathe again, and then—

“ _Jetii_ tricks!” snarled one of the Mandos outside of the speeder as she drew her twin pistol blasters and began to fire. “It’s the duchess!”

The spell broke. In a flash, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon both had their lightsabers in hand and began deflecting the bolts of plasma that raced towards them. All five of the _Kyr’tsad_ warriors had recovered from Qui-Gon’s attempted mind trick and were livid.

The anoobas sprang forward again, determined to sink their teeth into their prey. Obi-Wan kicked one that got too close in the snout, grimly pleased by the sharp yelp it elicited, as he blocked blasterfire that was heading straight for Satine.

One of the Mandos took to the air and began raining down red streaks of plasma, then there was another crackle of fire as a second one ignited her jetpack to join the first. 

The other three were approaching slowly, firing all the while, dodging the deflected bolts and the rebuffed anoobas. 

A sharp blast came from above when Qui-Gon sent a the shot ricocheting straight into one of the jetpacks, followed by an ear-splitting whistle of its engine. The Mando flailed uselessly, shouting as he plummeted to the ground and trailing smoke.

Obi-Wan felt the Force flowing through his veins. Every movement he made was guided by Its power—each dodge, each deflection, each slash. He shifted forward to cut down one of the anoobas charging at him, but rings of blue-tinged violet energy felled it before it reached his saber. 

_Satine._

She had thrown back his robe and was already training her stun blaster on a different target. An icy fire burned in her eyes as she squeezed the trigger.

Another Mando slumped to the ground with a groan. 

The opposition was growing thinner but fiercer, their sense of caution quickly evaporating. They pressed in, leaving less time for the Jedi to react and parry the blasterfire, but Obi-Wan still felt the Force singing in his bloodstream. He twisted his saber faster and it became a blur, anticipating each searing bolt and sending it back. 

There was a flash of red to his left, a crack as it collided with the rock wall, a choked gasp from Satine. Obi-Wan whirled around, horror gripping his chest— _how had he let it slip through his defenses_ —

She had ducked away from the debris, the dust clinging to her hair, her face rising to meet his gaze. “I’m fine,” she coughed.

He didn’t bother to hide his relief, the half-smile that appeared on her face telling him she’d noticed, and he turned back.

The Mando, the one who had recognized who they were, was only a few feet in front of him—he wasn’t sure how she’d gotten so close—and a jet of bright blue light was leaving one of her pistols.

Blistering pain lanced through his forearm, sending shocks up and down the nerves of his entire arm, as he heard Satine scream his name.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a!
> 
> "Osik" = "shit" (technically, "dung" in an impolite way, which I take to mean "shit" or the equivalent)
> 
> Thank you for reading, kudos-ing, and commenting!!!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi I'm back! Thanks for your patience with my slow updates!! AND THANK YOU FOR READING!!

Obi-Wan's grip on his lightsaber slackened for a brief moment, and the weapon tumbled to the ground, extinguished. He had just enough presence of mind to dodge so the warrior’s next shot didn’t do more than surface damage, but plasma scorched a path just above his hip bone. The _Kyr’tsad_ Mando had closed the gap and was in Obi-Wan’s face now, her left arm—more importantly, her left fist with the pistol clutched in it—was swinging in a powerful arc towards his head while the pistol in her right hand was at hip level and pointed at him. He ducked, reaching out for his lightsaber with the Force, praying he could get it in time to deflect the blaster fire—

Something brushed past his elbow as the warrior’s arm swept overhead. The sound of the blaster going off forced his gaze back upward, and he raised his newly-retrieved lightsaber.

The Mando was in the process of tumbling to the ground, her legs taken out from underneath her and her body hurled over someone’s— _Satine’s_ —shoulder. Their shouts mingled, the warrior’s a grunt of surprise and Satine’s one of effort, and there was a clatter of armor as the warrior’s back slammed into the ground. Before she could train either of her pistols on the duchess, however, Satine had hit her with a stun blast. Then a second one. 

There was silence but for the sound of Qui-Gon’s lightsaber deactivating, and Obi-Wan found himself unable to tear his eyes away from Satine. She hadn’t moved from the spot, her chest heaving and an almost savage look on her face as she gazed down at the fallen _Kyr’tsad_ soldier. For a moment, Obi-Wan didn’t even feel the burning from where he’d gotten shot; the wind had caught ahold of the few limp curls that had escaped the knot at the back of Satine’s head and they were catching the sunlight, glinting like her icy eyes. She was terrifying to behold, like an ancient Mandalorian conqueror, and yet… 

“Are you two alright?” Qui-Gon’s voice yanked Obi-Wan sharply back to the present. Satine, too, was apparently snapped out of her reverie—she gave a quick shake of the head as if to clear her mind, tucked her blaster back into its holster, and turned her sharp eyes from the warrior to Qui-Gon, then to Obi-Wan. 

“Obi-Wan got hit,” she said as she strode briskly toward him, not even taking the time to look over at the Jedi master. “Let me look at your arm.”

Before he could answer, she had taken hold of Obi-Wan's wrist and was inspecting the wound on his right forearm. He sucked in a breath as she prodded around the edge of it, trying to ignore the sting as well as the strange stirring of emotions her attentiveness was causing. 

“It’s deep, but it didn’t go all the way through or reach the bone. We’ll need to make sure we treat it,” she said after a few moments. “Your side got hit, too, didn’t it? I should check that before we go.”

He took a hasty step backward, trying to discreetly keep that part of his body from her view and avoiding meeting her gaze. “I’m sure it’s quite fine, Duchess, thank you. We really ought to be going I think, Master…?”

Mercifully, Qui-Gon nodded in agreement as he approached. “Obi-Wan is right, Duchess. He can attend to his injuries once we’re safely back on the ship.”

She narrowed her eyes, and her chin jutted out ever so slightly, but then she let out a huff. “Fine,” she said as she let go of Obi-Wan’s arm and turned to look at the wreckage around them. “But we’ll take their weapons first. And their speeder.”

“As you say, Duchess,” said Qui-Gon evenly with a slight bow. When Satine was busying herself with stripping one of the soldiers of his weapons, the Jedi Master approached Obi-Wan. “Are you truly alright, Padawan?”

“Yes—I’ve certainly had far worse. I’m sure patching them up with some bacta will do the trick,” he replied, matching his master’s quiet tone. He moved to follow Satine’s lead and winced involuntarily at the twinge from the abrasion by his hip, which earned him an unconvinced look from Qui-Gon. 

Perhaps Satine wasn’t too far off in her medical assessment. 

***

The sound of Satine coming through the open door to his quarters on the ship threw Obi-Wan, who had collapsed onto his bunk after showering, into startled action. He snatched up his shirt and yanked it on, ignoring the flashes of pain his movements caused and the heat in the tips of his ears. When he looked up, he saw her hair was still a bit damp from the shower she’d just taken and she was wearing much looser clothing than before—what looked to be lounge pants and a large tunic. Somehow, Satine managed to still carry an air of regality in spite of her casual appearance. 

“Did you put bacta on the burns yet?”

He grimaced slightly, running the hand of his good arm through his hair and not quite meeting her eyes. It wasn’t as though he wasn’t going to, it was merely that his exhaustion had finally caught up to him and he really was just trying to close his eyes for a couple of seconds and, well, he just hadn’t gotten around to it yet. 

She sighed and strode over to the room’s medkit and began rummaging through it. “Please tell me this isn’t how you treat all your injuries.”

“It’s not!” he said hurriedly, joining her and trying to acquire the bandages and bacta himself, only for her to firmly grab his hand and remove it from the kit. “This isn’t nearly as bad as some of the others we’ve gotten, so it doesn’t require as immediate of attention. That’s all.”

“Uh _huh._ And that’s supposed to make me feel better?”

“I hadn’t realized you were so torn up over my welfare.”

Her blue eyes flicked up to meet his and she raised a brow. “Well it surely doesn’t instill within me much confidence in the capabilities of _ner cabur_ if he doesn’t do the bare minimum of tending to his injuries. That’s not a particularly great indication of what sort of hands I’m in.” 

“Ah, and here I thought you were worried about _me_ ,” he said, a tease in his voice as he allowed her to push up the sleeve of his tunic and begin to apply bacta to the graze on his forearm. “You know that I can do this myself, right?”

“Evidence would indicate otherwise, and I’m not interested in taking chances at the moment. And yes, I _was_ worried about you.” Her voice grew quieter, and her last words were a murmur he could just make out over the hum of the ship. “I thought she was going to kill you.”

“There was no need to concern yourself on my account, I had it in hand.”

She pressed the bandage down over the bacta-covered burn and looked up at him incredulously. “ _You had it in hand?_ You dropped your lightsaber and she had her pistol pointed straight at your chest! What _exactly_ did you have in hand?”

“It makes it sound far worse when you put it like that. But what you missed was that I was reaching for my saber with the Force and could have easily deflected the shot, and you didn’t need to risk yourself so needlessly,” he protested. 

“Well, excuse me for saving your life,” she snapped. “Now either lift up your shirt or take it off.”

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to offer a retort, then shut it, his brow puckering. “I beg your pardon?”

She raised the tub of bacta impatiently. “Your side. I haven’t patched that up yet.”

“ _Oh!_ Oh, don’t worry about that, I can take care of it myself—”

“Obi-Wan Kenobi, would you _please_ just shut up and let me make sure you don’t get a kriffing infection?”

A little stunned, he complied and raised the bottom left corner of his tunic, allowing Satine to set to work. He felt his skin on his stomach prickle in response to the touch of her fingers, and his throat went suddenly rather dry. 

“I’m not objecting to your selfless action of ‘saving my life,’ as you put it,” he said in an attempt to distract himself, “although I would hardly say I needed saving.” She snorted, but he ignored it. “But why didn’t you just stun her from where you were?”

He glanced down at her. Her eyes were fixed studiously on the burn above his hip as she dabbed on a bit more bacta. “There wasn’t a clear angle. I would’ve hit you.”

“So the next best option was, what, to physically engage her?”

“I’m sure you would have done this same had you been in my situation.”

“That’s not the point.”

“What _is_ the point? That you have a hard time thanking people?” She stood and crossed her arms over her chest. 

“No, that’s not it, it’s just—” he frowned. “She could’ve easily killed you, especially in such close range.”

“I’ve been trained in combat, Obi-Wan, you know that. I know how to take out a threat with minimal violence and without killing.”

“But still… you shouldn’t have felt you had to do that. And I know that can’t have been easy for you, given your stance on these things.” 

She looked at him for a long moment, then bit her lip and lowered her gaze. “That’s just the problem, you know. It was all too easy for me to want to hurt her. And I don’t want to be that way—I don’t want to be like _them_.”

“Satine, you’re not like them at all,” he said, reaching out to place a hand on her arm. She shifted out of his grasp and turned away, busying herself with the medkit. 

“I should go. We’ll be out of _Kyr’tsad_ ’s signal-block soon and I need to update the _Mand’alor._ ”

Then she slipped out the door, leaving Obi-Wan standing in his quarters with yet one more thing for him to puzzle over. It wasn’t until after her door had hissed shut that he realized he hadn’t properly thanked her.

* * *

For all the outward appearances of the broken planet, Concord Dawn had some of the most arable land the entire Mandalore sector had to offer. Not that that was really saying much. But still—here, out in the farmlands, one could almost forget that the constant warring had blown almost a third of the planet to rubble, and how it had reduced parts of this world and even greater parts of others in the sector to barren deserts. 

Jango took in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of wheat and tilled soil as he chewed on a small root of _behot_. He hadn’t been back here in what felt like lifetimes, yet it almost felt as though he had never truly left. Little had changed on the surface. When he looked more closely, however, he could see the changes: the occasional _Kyr’tsad_ banner, the burned cropfields, the empty farmsteads, the lack of civilians out and about. The bastards were like parasites, eating away at everything that Mandalore had to offer.

He spat the remains of the stimulant herb on the ground, pulled his _buy’ce_ back over his head, and turned back to his officers who had come with him to meet with the leaders of the Journeyman Protectors. They would be arriving any minute, and while Jango wouldn’t say he was anxious, he certainly didn’t want to stay in this spot much longer than necessary. It was out of the way of the nearest town and fairly uninhabited, but still—it wouldn’t do them much good if _Kyr’tsad_ scouts discovered them and spoiled their plans of a surprise attack. He didn’t doubt that the Journeyman Protectors were telling the truth that they were on his side. He also didn’t doubt they were telling the truth when they said _Kyr’tsad_ had been unleashing hell in the Concord Dawn system. 

There was a soft rustle of dead leaves, and the whole group whirled around, blasters raised at the culprit. 

“ _Mand’alor,_ ” said a man as he emerged from the wheat field, hands above his shoulders. Jango and his compatriots relaxed at the familiar sigil on the man’s armor, but still kept their hands on their blasters. There were no promises that this wasn’t just a _Kyr’tsad_ imposter. 

“Helmet off so we can identify you,” said Jango coldly. “Same goes for the rest of your crew,” he added as two more figures emerged. 

At a nod from the man in front, all three of the Journeyman Protectors removed their helmets, and Jango finally holstered his blaster. He, too, removed his hemet and he stepped forward to greet his friend. 

“Cort Davin,” he grasped the man’s forearm and dropped his other hand on Davin’s shoulder. “ _Su cuy’gar_.”

The man grinned from under his mustache, his shiny bald head winking in the afternoon sunlight as he returned the gesture. His grip was strong on Jango’s forearm, and his hand was heavy on his shoulder. “ _Su cuy’gar_ , _Mand’alor_. It’s good to see you alive, my friend.”

They released one another and stepped back again. A glance over his shoulder told Jango that his officers had followed his lead and removed their helmets as well, and were looking somewhat at ease. 

“I see you’ve brought backup of your own,” said Davin, following Jango’s gaze. “It’s good to see you again, Gaanar, Ja’kad, Balta. It’s been a while.”

The three officers nodded in return. 

“This is Evani,” Davin gestured to the dark-haired, middle-aged woman to his left, “and Fenn,” he glanced over at the young man on his right. Fenn looked a few years older than Satine, maybe the same age Jango had been when he first became _Mand’alor._

Both Evani and Fenn clasped their fists over their hearts and bowed their heads to Jango in stiff, militarisitic movements. 

“I assume this isn’t all that’s left of the Journeyman Protectors?” asked Jango after he swept his gaze over the three of them. He heard a chiming noise behind him, and the sound of one of his officers shifting, but he ignored it. 

Cort barked a laugh. “Hardly, but we couldn’t very well bring all of them out here, could we? They’re all lying low, going through the motions. We haven’t outwardly shown signs of resistance against _Kyr’tsad_ yet—we’ve been waiting for the right moment. And here you are.”

And here he was. Back to free his home. 

“ _Mand’alor_ ,” came Ja’kad’s voice. He turned to see her with his holocomm in hand. “Incoming holo from Duchess Satine.”

“Put her through,” he said sharply. Relief washed over him; it had been far too long without any news. 

_“Mand’alor_ ,” said Satine as a tiny blue hologram of her appeared. Behind him, he heard Cort, Evani, and Fenn whisper to one another. 

“ _Jorad’alor_ ,” he replied. He waited, knowing she would cut to the chase. 

_“I have news: Clan Lok on Zanbar stands with us. But we had a bit of a run-in with Kyr’tsad before we were able to make it off-world, and I have little doubt that they’ll be able to trace our presence there back to Clan Lok. We ought to send reinforcements to Zanbar."_

That was… both good news, and unfortunate. She was right, they really ought to send reinforcements to protect allies, but still. “We’re in the middle of planning our recovery of Concord Dawn—sparing personnel isn’t much of an option if we want to win this fight and still have enough of a defense to keep Vizsla from taking over Ordo.”

 _“I know,”_ she crossed her arms. Even over the hologram, he could tell she was scowling, which was unusual for this early in one of their discussions. Something must have put her in a bad mood before she commed him. _“But if we let Clan Lok fall we not only risk losing them but also people’s faith in us! Surely you can spare some forces? There isn’t that great of a Kyr’tsad presence on Zanbar to begin with, and if you’re keeping them busy on Concord Dawn, they’re not likely to send much aid to Zanbar.”_

He just watched her for a moment. Clan Lok wasn’t a huge score in terms of gaining allies, but it was more than they’d started with. That must have been her reason for going to Zanbar: to win over Clan Lok. Why she had been so adamant about it, though, escaped him. 

_“Think about it,”_ she added when he didn’t say anything, _“we could win over two worlds at the same time and really make some headway here. That would convince people we’re serious, wouldn’t it?”_

“Sure, but who’ll be there to protect them when _Kyr’tsad_ retaliates and tries to gain them back?” said Jango. “Do we split up the forces left to defend Concord Dawn and Ordo and risk losing all three worlds? We need all the fighters we have to free the rest of Mandalore.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Cort come to stand beside him, and he turned. 

“Kriff, but she looks like Adonai,” Cort muttered before drawing his gaze away from the small hologram and looking over to Jango. “ _Vod_ , you don’t need to leave troops here. You help us get Vizsla’s _besome_ off Concord Dawn, and we’ll defend it. Everyone who lives here will, after all the shit we’ve dealt with from them.”

Satine offered a tight smile. _“My thanks, sir.”_

“Doing my duty, _Jorad’alor,_ ” Davin said with a bow. “The name is Cort Davin, Your Grace. Of the Journeyman Protectors.”

 _“It is an honor,”_ she said, nodding courteously. _“See, Jango? There we have it, problem solved. Please—will you send aid to Clan Lok?”_

“Yes, of course I kriffing will. You act as though I was about to let them get destroyed.”

 _“Well, I can’t be too careful,”_ she replied. 

Jango shook his head in mild exasperation, then frowned. “Hang on, if you’re not on Zanbar anymore, where are you going?”

Satine glanced over her shoulder at something in the background before looking back. _“I was planning on Kalevala, but—”_

“ _Kalevala?_ ” thundered Jango. “You realize they’ll be crawling the place looking for you? They’ll _expect_ you to try to go to your homeworld.”

 _“You’re one to talk,”_ she said, placing her hands on her hips. _“Your first move was to try to take back Concord Dawn!”_

He grit his teeth. “With _armed forces_ , not just two _J_ _etiise_ for protection!”

“Master Jinn and Padawan Kenobi have been—”

There was a crash on Satine’s end, and the connection wavered. 

“Satine?” said Jango, a concerned urgency creeping into his tone. 

Static continued to dominate the hologram, but he could just make out her curt voice above the buzzing. 

_“—were hit by something. I’ll try to call when we’re safe. K’oyacyi, Mand’alor.”_

The blue light flickered out, and Jango pressed a fist to his mouth as he stared at the spot where Satine’s figure had stood. He had a bad feeling that the “something” was _Kyr’tsad_ and it would be a long while before he heard from the duchess again. 

“I’m sure she’ll be alright, _Mand’alor_ ,” said Ja’kad. “She’s tough. And the _J_ _etiise_ seem more than up to the task.”

Jango nodded absently. She _would_ be fine. The odds had been stacked against her for quite some time, and she always managed to find a way out. This would be no different. 

“Send a transmission to Ordo about getting a squadron to Zanbar,” he said to Ja’kad. “For now, we’ll keep planning our strike on Concord Dawn.”

And after they took back Concord Dawn, if he still had heard nothing from Satine… well, he’d go find her himself if he had to.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a!  
> ner cabur = "my protector"  
> behot = citrus flavored herb that's a mild antiseptic/stimulant  
> buy'ce = helmet (or, Mando slang for helmet is "bucket")  
> Su cuy'gar = "hello" or, literally, "so you're still alive"  
> besome = "ill-mannered lout" or "unhygienic person"  
> K'oyacyi = "stay alive"
> 
> Thank you thank you for reading, kudos-ing, and commenting! I'm having a lot of fun writing this, and your support means SO MUCH!!!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter chapter, but I hope y'all enjoy!

_Pursued Duchess on Zanbar. Target managed to escape. Confirmation on two Jedi guards. Suspected Clan Lok involvement. Three of ours with major injuries, one dead._

Bo-Katan gnawed on the inside of her cheek and scrolled down to the next update on her datapad. 

_Unidentified ship did not allow boarding party. Our crew took out its stabilizers. Looked like it was trying to crash on Cheravh. Recovery team being organized to go down to surface for investigation._

Cheravh wasn’t far from Zanbar. Or Kalevala, for that matter. Satine surely wouldn’t be so dumb as to try to go back home, would she? It was hard to say. Growing up, she had been intelligent and sharp—much like Bo and Tomar—but it had been a while since Bo-Katan had actually talked to her sister or been around her. A lot could change in that time. Coruscant and its politicians, for example, could’ve rotted Satine’s brain cells. That would explain some of the things she’d been spewing over holotransmissions, acting like she knew anything about what was going on in the Mandalore sector while she sat comfortably in the galaxy’s Core.

_“I don’t need to remind you that your sister is a liar, do I? No doubt she’s been corrupted by those Core-world senators and the future politicians at the University. She’s merely a foolish child, and children are so easily manipulated.”_

Tor Vizsla’s words rang in Bo-Katan’s mind. It was what he said when Satine’s first round of statements slandering _Kyr’tsad_ had been released, and it had been reassuring to hear. If Satine was telling the truth, then nothing else made sense. Why, for instance, would Vizsla have directed _Kyr’tsad_ to try to track down the mercenaries who killed her father and brother if he was the one behind it? And besides, _Kyr’tsad_ took pride in their victories and always claimed them, just like the great Mandalorian Crusaders of the past, but no such claims had been made for the deaths of the great Adonai and Tomar Kryze. Clearly, Satine was deluded.

So why, then, had Fett wanted her as the _Jorad’alor_ ? Sure, it wasn’t really his choice, per se, but he hadn’t hidden the fact that he wanted Satine Kryze to share the power of leading. Bo-Katan paid attention to the holovids that Fett sent across the sector, as well as the ones her sister distributed, since it was important to know one’s opposition. She had trouble understanding how Jango Fett—who she had known before he became _Mand’alor_ and before Galidraan, and had known to be one of the fiercest warriors the True Mandalorians had—decided to throw his lot in with Satine’s. Perhaps the rumors were true and they really had become lovers, although Bo-Katan wasn’t convinced by that. The age gap was a bit much, especially considering that Satine was still a few years shy of twenty, and beyond the cringe factor of such a relationship, it just didn’t match up with their characters. But then again, much of what Bo-Katan had seen of Satine’s behavior in the past year was wildly beyond what she would have expected. 

How ironic that it was her soft, pacifistic sister who was playing the renegade. Satine, who always followed the rules and always had a bleeding heart for those who were weak. Satine, who never could understand why rival clans “couldn’t just be friends” when they were growing up and never would throw the first punch even while practicing. Satine, the “good girl.” And now Satine was wanted for treason, while Bo-Katan was the one who had fallen into line when the change of power had come about. Strangely enough, she had been the _only_ one of her family to be obedient to the new _Mand’alor_ when Vizsla earned the title, despite the fact that Bo-Katan had decidedly been the most rebellious out of her siblings and their parents. Not that any of them would have known she’d joined _Kyr’tsad_ , of course. They wouldn’t have understood and she didn’t owe them anything—not when her father did nothing to get vengeance for her mother’s death, and Satine and Tomar supported his decision. 

Despite the fact she had put a good deal of distance between herself and her family both emotionally and ideologically, Bo-Katan didn’t think Adonai and Tomar had _deserved_ to die. They were misguided and should have been more loyal to _Mand’alor_ Vizsla instead of quietly refusing to acknowledge his legitimacy, but it wasn’t as though they had staged an all-out insurrection against him. Satine, on the other hand… Satine was a bit of a different case. She was a distinct leader of this rebellion alongside Jango Fett and didn’t hold back from voicing her accusations against _Kyr’tsad_ or proclaiming Vizsla a murderer who had no right to the title _Mand’alor._ Even though she was a pacifist, she was proving herself to be dangerous and she needed to be punished for her crimes. There was no getting around that. 

But, Satine was also her seventeen-year-old little sister. Bo-Katan hadn’t seen any holos of Jango and Satine standing together recently, didn’t know how they were around each other; in her mind she could only see that small blonde girl staring wide-eyed from behind Adonai Kryze’s legs up at Fett and Mereel, looking fierce in their True Mandalorian armor as they strode forward and hailed the Kryze family. Satine must have outgrown her fear of Jango Fett—clearly, if she was seen as his closest ally and had been bold enough in general to make statements against _Kyr’tsad_ before Fett had even returned—but Bo-Katan still couldn’t shake that mental image. She would have to forget that younger version of her sister, though. The reality was that Satine wasn’t that innocent girl anymore: she was an enemy. Hopefully, the recovery team sent down to Cheravh would catch her so it could all be done with and Bo-Katan wouldn’t have to spend any more time thinking about it. 

The clacking of boots on the metal floor startled Bo-Katan from her thoughts and she half rose out of her seat, right hand on a pistol, before she registered the _Kyr’tsad_ armor. The warrior pulled off her helmet and fixed Bo-Katan with a look of bemusement before rolling her eyes. 

“Worried you’re gonna get caught or something?” asked Rook Kast as she ran a hand through her short, dark hair. 

Bo-Katan settled back into her seat and bit back her irritation at the other young woman. “No, but it’s better to be on your guard.” Rook snorted a laugh, stepping forward to the desk with her distinctive gait—something between a swagger and a saunter. Bo-Katan watched her through narrowed eyes and yanked the datapad away when Rook tried to reach for it. “What do you want? ” 

“I was going to see if you wanted to spar but it looks like you’re too busy writing in your diary,” said Rook with a sniff. 

“It’s not a kriffing diary,” said Bo-Katan. “I was looking at the reports. You know, like we’re supposed to?”

Rook made a face. “Oh yeah, I heard they’re close to catching the duchess or whatever. That doesn’t affect us though—that’s over on Cheravh.”

_Ka’ra, give me some fucking strength. Does she seriously not pay attention to anything?_

“It does, Kast, because if we catch the duchess then we’re one step closer to shutting down this uprising, which means we’ll need to be ready to get moved somewhere else to establish control.”

Bo-Katan ignored the small part of her mind that also whispered, _It affects you more because that’s your baby sister you’re hunting down. Are you really ready to support her execution?_ She didn’t have time for her conscience to get in the way, if that was even what it was. 

“When that happens, we’ll know,” said Rook with a shrug. “And if we spar then we’ll be more prepared to fight. Now are you gonna spar with me or do I find someone else?” She leaned forward over the desk, adopting a sultry pout even as her eyes glittered wickedly. “You know you’re my _favorite_ sparring partner.”

“Fine.” Bo-Katan pushed herself back up, pointedly looking anywhere but Rook’s face as she snatched her helmet off the desk and refreshed the report feed on her datapad one last time. Nothing. She left it behind and tried to force it from her thoughts as she followed Rook Kast down the hall and outside to the training corrals.

* * *

The blast shook the ship violently, and Qui-Gon knew in an instant that something vital had gotten hit. The ship made a high-pitched whine as he fought to keep it steady and started them towards the planet below. He let the Living Force wash over him, silently asking it to guide his steering. 

From the main cabin, he heard the sound of scuffling as the teens attempted to regain balance with the ship’s recently-acquired instability. “Master Jinn! Did we get hit?” came the muffled cry. 

“We have indeed, Duchess. And now, we’re going to be attempting a rather hasty landing so I recommend that the both of you make sure all of our necessary items are packed away in our bags and you’re ready to make a run for it.” Qui-Gon sensed the duchess’ quick spike of panic, his padawan’s restrained urge to argue—the usual protests about helping to pilot, he was sure—but they mercifully both kept their mouths shut. It seemed both of his rather hard-headed charges were actually listening to his directives without needing to question him for once. 

Down below, the planet was getting clearer—according to the nav readouts it was a terrestrial world called Cheravh—and he was beginning to see areas of green and brown from behind the sparse clouds. The Force seemed to be urging him onwards, and he felt his pulse slow to a more serene rate as he obeyed, opening himself up to his surroundings. They were in an odd sort of controlled plummet now and although his instinct may have been to try to slow them down, he felt something keep his hands from yanking back on the steering yoke. _Not yet, not yet._ Within the ship, he could feel the cramped anxiety of the teenagers as they moved with haste, their fatigue forgotten in the face of this latest threat, but he felt the Force tug his attention elsewhere. 

They weren’t being pursued quite yet, based on the scanners and the movements within the Force, but Qui-Gon knew it was only a matter of time. _Yes,_ the Force seemed to encourage him, _and what does that give you?_ His mind began to turn with the possibilities. If he could just use this brief gap to give Obi-Wan the chance to flee with the duchess unnoticed, give them a head start while he led the Death Watch hunters elsewhere… But giving them that chance wouldn’t be easy. It wasn’t as if he could drop them out in the middle of one of the forested areas before the ship crashed—he couldn’t get low enough that the fall and subsequent impact with the ground wouldn’t at least severely injure them unless he crashed right nearby, which would defeat the purpose. Even if they had parachutes, which they didn’t, those would certainly make them much more easily spotted. 

_Look closer. What do you see? What do you sense?_

He peered down at the rapidly-approaching planet and as he realized he needed to start preparing to enter its atmosphere, he caught a glimpse of blue. A half-smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. His padawan would soon be finding himself _very_ grateful for those early-morning swims they’d been doing over the past year. Qui-Gon tugged at their bond, and moments later, Obi-Wan entered the cockpit. 

“Master?”

“How are your injuries, Padawan?”

Obi-Wan slid into the co-pilot’s seat and flexed his bandaged right arm as he reached for the controls. “Healing quickly enough with the bacta. I don’t feel them as much anymore.”

“Good. Don’t get too settled up here,” Qui-Gon added with a sharp glance over to his student. “I need your complete honesty—you’re more than capable of using the Force to control a free-fall, correct?”

“Yes, although I think I would need your help if I were to slow the ship enough,” said Obi-Wan, his brows furrowed. The ship gave a stuttering jolt, and they heard a short yelp of surprise from the back of the craft as they both braced themselves in their seats.

“It’s not the ship I have in mind. I’m going to steer the ship towards one of the bodies of water, and when we pass over it, you are going to jump out with the duchess. If I am to lead Death Watch away from the two of you, however, I can only fly us so low without crashing the ship right nearby.”

The ship was shaking more violently now as they entered the atmosphere, and a few warning sensors began to go off. “I doubt the duchess is going to like this plan,” said Obi-Wan through clenched teeth as he reached to dismiss one of the alerts. “But I can do that, yes. What about you, though?”

“I’ll be just fine, Padawan. And once I’ve successfully misdirected our pursuers, I’ll comm you and we will regroup,” replied Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan’s nervousness was prickling through the Force, but his expression was schooled and his eyes were facing forward. “Trust in the Force, Obi-Wan. I wouldn’t ask this of you unless I knew you could do it.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, kudos-ing, and commenting!! So grateful for your support! :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's see how Satine feels about this plan, shall we? Hope y'all enjoy!

The floor shifted abruptly under Satine’s feet yet again, effectively flinging her into the wall and undoubtedly adding to her collection of bruises. This, she decided, was perhaps even worse than sparring with Jango. At least _then_ she tended to have some sort of idea when she was about to get knocked about. She muttered a string of rather colorful curses as she picked herself up into a crouch and rolled her shoulder in an attempt to get the feeling back. If this was how the rest of their descent was going to go—and she strongly suspected that it was—then she might as well strap herself into one of the seats in the cockpit. Her bag was packed and her upper-body _beskar’gam_ was donned, so there was really no reason for her to stay back in the cabin. _Assuming I can even get to the cockpit without getting thrown back here again_. 

The faint but pungent smell of burning fuel hit her nose when she managed to half-crawl into the short passageway. It was a bit warmer there, too, and she could more clearly hear the sharp, rapid beeping of warnings issuing from the controls over the clanking and creaking of the ship. Something definitely had to have caught fire, most likely from their descent through the atmosphere at what had to be an alarming speed. Her heartrate seemed keen on matching the ship’s pace if the accelerated pulse in her neck was anything to go by. In fact, her entire body was alert—her mouth had gone dry, her hands were shaky and sweaty, and her eyes were determined to detect everything in her path as she inched forward. At the same time, some distant part of her mind was recalling one of her classes on the biological systems of sentient species, reciting the careful notes she had taken about the physiological responses to the arousal of the sympathetic nervous system. 

How nice to know that even as she was trapped in a damaged ship, plunging towards what could easily be her death and the deaths of the two _J_ _etiise_ , she could at least still prattle off the science behind “fight-or-flight” activation. 

The _J_ _etiise_ seemed to be, as usual, a little too calm for the situation in Satine’s opinion. They were having a low-toned conversation when she hauled herself upright into the cockpit, and there were only the barest traces of tension in their expressions when they both glanced back at her. Her own gaze traveled over to the viewport and she immediately wished it hadn’t—the terrain of Cheravh’s surface was coming closer dizzyingly fast. Her stomach, which already had been feeling a bit fluttery, churned at the sight. Unable to fully tear her eyes away, she sank into the seat behind Obi-Wan and began to numbly fasten the harness.

“Be ready to unclip yourself soon,” said Master Jinn, his voice irritatingly even. “I trust you have your belongings ready?”

“Yes,” replied Satine slowly. “Are we preparing to crash?”

The master and apprentice exchanged a look, and not for the first time, she wondered if they were able to communicate through the Force or something. That detail was among the many things that her University education had not covered when she learned about the Jedi. 

“I am,” said Master Jinn in that same tone he'd had before. They were getting rather close to the ground, now, and he seemed to be slowing them down fractionally. Or, at least, pulling them out of the hurtling nosedive. 

Satine started to nod, then frowned. “ _You_ are?” 

Another glance passed between Master Jinn and Obi-Wan, then the padawan turned to face her. He looked her up and down, a scrutinizing expression on his face that made Satine want to shrink back into her seat. She settled for crossing her arms over her chest instead. What the _hell_ was going on? And why was Obi-Wan eyeing her like that? 

“You might want to take off your _beskar’gam_ and put it in your bag,” he said after a moment. 

She just blinked at him. Unfortunately, he seemed unlikely to elaborate any further. _Kriffing Jetii._

“We’re getting close now, Padawan. Another few minutes.”

At his master’s words, Obi-Wan extricated himself from the copilot seat and motioned for Satine to do the same. Once she had unfastened her safety belt, he pulled her to her feet again and led her back toward the cabins. Bewildered, she followed—not that there was much else she could do. Even though she wasn’t Force-sensitive, she could feel the urgency radiating throughout the entire ship. 

He scooped up their bags from their respective cabins and continued towards the ship’s entryport, next to which he deposited the bags. To Satine’s further confusion, he then shucked off his robe, stuffed it into his backpack, sat down, and began tugging off his boots. Obi-Wan paused and raised an impatient brow at her when she didn’t move. 

“ _Beskar’gam_ in the bag along with any layers you don’t want weighing you down. I’m strapping my boots to mine as well—I’d recommend you do the same. You heard Qui-Gon, we don’t have much time.”

“Fine,” she said as she started unfastening her chestplate. “Would you care to enlighten me as to what, exactly, we’re doing?”

“Jumping ship,” said Obi-Wan. He rose to his feet once again after firmly attaching his boots to the sides of his bag and began stowing her armor in her pack as she discarded it. “You know how to swim, don’t you?”

“Do I—yes, I know how to swim, but—”

“Good. Keep undressing,” he added when she had paused in the middle of pulling off her heavy outer-tunic. Had the circumstances been different, she might have teased him for his choice of words or commented on how she had said something rather similar to him not too long ago, but she couldn’t even bring herself to laugh over it. _Bloody cryptic Jetiise_ , _why can’t they just give me a straightforward explanation?_

Satine was just tightening the straps connecting her boots to her bag, mentally preparing herself for the very strong possibility that she was about to leap from a crashing ship into some unknown body of water, when Master Jinn called back to them from the cockpit. “I’m preparing to open the hatch—brace yourselves!”

They grabbed onto the handles on either side of the door and watched as it slowly lowered. Wind shrieked all around, a testament to the fact that they were still moving quickly. Satine clung a little tighter to the handle. 

“Pass me your bag!” Obi-Wan shouted. She complied, not entirely sure what he was planning to do, then stared as he edged his way towards the open entryport and, firmly gripping its frame, tossed both of their backpacks out of the ship. They sailed out of sight, down toward the sparse trees. He pulled back into the craft and reached a hand out towards her. “Come on!”

Hesitantly, Satine reached out one hand to grasp his while still keeping ahold of the handle with the other. Before she had much time to mull over the fact that they were still a long ways up from the water they were currently passing over, he yanked her away from the handle and drew her right to his side. It was much closer than she would have expected, really, but with the wind and the height and the fact that she was pretty sure they were about to jump _now_ out of the ship while they weren’t exactly flying at a leisurely pace, she didn’t have quite the wherewithal to fully process that detail. 

“Don’t let go of me, okay?” He still had to yell to be heard over all the noise, but not as much now that he could speak right by her ear. 

“You can’t be serious—I don’t think people can survive a fall from this high, at least not in one piece!” she shrieked even as she clutched at him. 

“Just trust me.”

And with that, Obi-Wan tightened his arm around her waist, wrapped his other arm securely around her shoulders so that their chests were flush up against each other, and carried them both over the edge of the ramp. 

* * *

The monitor on the controls showed that Qui-Gon was officially the only lifeform left onboard, and he pressed to close the hatch once more. His padawan and the duchess would be fine. Obi-Wan had come a remarkably long way in his training; in even just the past year he had impressed Qui-Gon with how much stronger he had gotten in the Force. And Duchess Satine was hardly helpless, for that matter, but was far from it. They would work well together. They _had_ to work well together. 

Qui-Gon set his gaze on the horizon, watching the gauge of his dwindling altitude out of the corner of his eye and hoping he could get enough distance away from the teenagers while still catching the attention of whoever chose to come after them all. It would, he decided, have to be a rather showy crash. If nothing else, he could always create a bit more of a disturbance after he’d extracted himself from the wrecked ship by taking his lightsaber or a blaster to some of the more vital, explosive components. 

The small lake was hidden from view now, at least twenty kilometers away, but he could go further. He thought he saw some mountainous range up ahead, and by the fuzzy readouts… another thirty-six kilometers from where he was. The terrain would be advantageous for his purposes as well, he mused. 

“May the Force be with me, “ Qui-Gon said wryly to himself, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards as he directed the smoking ship towards the mountains. 

* * *

Satine couldn’t tell if she was screaming and just couldn’t hear it, or if the air had stolen everything in her lungs. She also couldn’t tell if they were falling for longer than they should have been, or how fast they were going, or if she was capable of moving a muscle. In fact, her mind seemed to have been wiped completely blank the second Obi-Wan had dragged them both into the free-fall. There was nothing beyond the biting wind against her skin and Obi-Wan. Her face was pressed into his collarbone and as angry as she had been—still was?—with him, she was absolutely not about to ignore his directive to hold on to him. At least he was something solid. 

The sting of impact with the water was another shock to her system, but it wasn’t anywhere near the bone-shattering, life-ending strike she had anticipated from such a drop. It did, however, still hurt, and was strong enough to loosen her grip on the padawan as they shot down through the water. She froze, opened her eyes only to see green-tinged murkiness, then her survival instincts came on in full swing and she started propelling herself upwards.

She kicked and kicked and kicked, her lungs beginning to burn and her panic beginning to rise but still she kept kicking and kicking—

A hand grabbed her around her bicep and _yanked._

Her head broke the surface and she gasped for oxygen, then choked. The hand hadn’t let go even though it had stopped pulling at her, and she was relieved to have something to help keep her steady. Satine continued to splutter and gag as she blinked the water from her eyes. 

“Are you alright? Can you swim in to shore?” Obi-Wan asked, his grey-blue eyes searching her face. Rather than respond immediately, she coughed up more water. 

“Satine?”

She managed to get a decent inhale of air in and nodded after a moment. “I’m fine.” Her voice was raspy, but she seemed to have gotten a handle on her breathing. 

“Good, because we need to get moving if we don’t want them to spot us.” Without waiting for her to say anything, he gave her a light push towards the nearest shoreline. 

They soon fell into a steady pace—maintainable but not exactly leisurely—and Satine felt her mind begin returning to its regular functioning. Her anger, for one, was coming back with a vengeance. Once she had gotten to the shore and had a moment to catch her breath, she was going to have some _words_ with Obi-Wan. If he thought he and his master could come up with plans like this without even informing her and could get away with it they had another thing coming. Just because they could use the Force didn’t mean they could expect her to go along with their _gedin’la_ ideas and be fine with it. Ohh yes, the _J_ _etii_ padawan was certainly in for it. 

Stewing in her indignation and mentally preparing for her righteous speech had the nice side effect of making the swim pass relatively quickly. When she staggered through the shallows and finally hauled herself onto the beach, though, her body was utterly drained. She collapsed to the ground, lungs heaving, brain and limbs tingling. A few feet away, Obi-Wan fell to his hands and knees as well, but less than a minute had passed before he was back on his feet and walking past her.

“Stay here and recover. I’ll go find our things—they can’t be far.”

Internally, the pettier side of her took great satisfaction in the fact that he, too, sounded a little out of breath. She was, however, far too winded to offer more than a vague snort. He thankfully seemed to get the gist, and Satine allowed her head to sink more thoroughly into the sand. Every inch of her felt like lead. 

In the back of her mind she knew she ought to be worried and ought to be helping Obi-Wan so they could find a place to hide, but Satine was just so _tired._ It had been such a long time since she’d rested—she’d gone from been woken early on Zanbar, to trekking stars knew how far of a distance from their campsite to their ship and getting ambushed on the way, to getting a brief respite from physical taxation during their stint on the ship during which she hadn’t even laid down to close her eyes, to taking a terrifying leap from said ship and having to swim to “safety.” And they weren’t even safe yet. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take for the day. All too soon, though, she heard quiet footsteps approaching and the sound of a bag dropping onto the beach. 

“We need to get under cover, we’re too exposed out here.” At Obi-Wan’s words, she raised her haid and squinted up at him. He wasn’t looking at her; his gaze was directed up into the purple-tinged sky and his stance had suddenly gone rigid.

“What is it?” asked Satine, her bloodstream once again filling with what had to be the last reserves of her adrenaline and getting her to scramble back to her feet. Whatever frustration she needed to express to the padawan could wait until this latest crisis was averted. 

He pointed a finger at something almost directly above them—a tiny dark speck that seemed to slowly be growing. “I think our friends managed to get a hunting party together.”

“I suppose that’s our cue, then,” she said as she scooped up her bag and braced herself to go back into motion yet again. 

“I suppose it is,” he agreed, and they both broke into a light jog toward the treeline. “Follow me, I think there should be something nearby that will do.”

“Tell me, will this involve any cliff-diving? Or scaling down a deep ravine? I’d just like to be prepared this time.”

Obi-Wan half-glanced at her, noting the slight edge to her jest, and sighed. “I knew you weren’t going to like that plan. Can we discuss this once we’ve found a place to rest? We should be trying to save our energy.”

Satine made a faint scoffing noise in the back of her throat as they passed under the first few trees. She wasn’t particularly patient by nature, but she could wait this one out. Much as she hated to admit it, Obi-Wan had a point about energy conservation—she was running with very little left in the tank. She was determined, however, to not let him wriggle out of this. The second they found a spot for the night she would pounce. 

“ _Fine_.”

The thundering of the _Kyr’tsad_ ship was getting louder and louder as they wove between the trees. They had slowed to a brisk walk now that they were covered, halting only for a few moments to tug their boots on. It would be hard to spot them by this point given the thick foliage that made up the canopy above them. However, Satine couldn’t stop herself from the occasional glance toward the sky. She couldn’t see much, only the occasional gap in the leaves that revealed the gathering twilight, which was a bit unsettling since it meant she couldn’t see where their pursuers were. On the flip side, it was a comfort to know that she and Obi-Wan were well-hidden. 

She was much more relieved when the jets reached their crescendo and began to fade again—led elsewhere by Master Jinn, most likely. Even so, the padawan continued doggedly onward, apparently not satisfied that they were safe. Satine wondered if perhaps he was concerned for his master. _She_ certainly was, and she hadn’t been raised by the man. Maybe Obi-Wan needed to keep moving to distract himself, which Satine could understand all too well. So she bit her tongue for now, resolving that if he showed no signs of slowing down in the next ten or so minutes, she would insist on stopping. It wouldn’t do for both of them to exhaust themselves any further. And, she remembered with a start, he was still recovering from those blaster wounds and had probably already overexerted himself. 

That changed the duchess’ mind in a great hurry. “Obi-Wan, we need to stop soon. We’ve been walking for over an hour and we both need our rest. And I really ought to make sure you haven’t opened up those scoremarks or something.”

“I know,” he replied, not even pausing in his push onward into the woods. 

“It’s going to be pitch dark out soon,” she said even as she continued to keep pace with him. 

“I suspect so,” said Obi-Wan. 

“Look,” she hedged, “I know you must be worried about your master, and I am too, but pushing ourselves to collapse isn’t the best solution. Trust me.”

He looked over her. “You think that’s what I’m doing?” Satine flushed, and he shook his head and returned his focus frontwards. “Qui-Gon is quite alright, I can feel him through our bond.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” she said sincerely. _You could have informed me of_ that, _too._

He grimaced slightly. “I should have told you that earlier, I’m sorry. As for why we haven’t stopped yet, I’m just trying to find the right place first, and,” he brightened, “it seems we’re almost there.”

“Almost _where,_ precisely?”

A satisfied half-smile flashed across his face, giving Satine a glimpse of the dimple on his right cheek, and he stepped towards what seemed to be a rather thick clump of bushes and trees. She watched in bemusement as he held aside some of the vegetation, ducked under the lower branches, then disappeared through them. In his wake, the brush seemed as though it hadn’t even been disturbed. She was grudgingly impressed. 

There was the muffled rustling and crunching of leaves and sticks, and Obi-Wan reappeared again after several moments. “Well, are you coming?”

With a long-suffering exhale, she stepped forward and allowed him to guide her through the branches. She was admittedly a little curious as she clambered along, ignoring how the sharp twigs caught at her skin and still-damp clothes, then was delighted when she stepped into a hollow hidden away by the thicket. It was cozy, but with easily enough space for two people, and more than enough coverage to conceal them from anyone who passed by. 

“Not a bad find,” she said as she dropped her backpack on the ground and began rummaging for her small medical pouch. She had packed it, hadn’t she? Behind her, she heard a grunt that may have been a word of thanks, but she was a little distracted at the moment. “How are your burns?” 

The end of her query came out a little more strangled than she would have liked, but honestly, Satine hadn’t expected to be met with a view of Obi-Wan’s bare back when she had looked over her shoulder. He was lean but toned, and she could see the shifting curves of his muscles as he stripped off his tunic and twisted to look at his still-bandaged side. It wasn’t as though she’d never seen a Human male without a shirt before—it was hard to exist in the galaxy and _not_ see that—and she knew that the padawan had to be athletically built to do everything that he did as a _J_ _etii_ , but… 

She coughed and tore her eyes away, running a hand through her hair and trying desperately to get rid of the blush she knew was creeping up her neck and onto her cheeks. _Think about that awful drop from the ship_ —the memory of being extremely close to Obi-Wan during that little misadventure popped into her head— _NO not that. Think about how angry you are_ —

“They seem to be nearly healed up,” he said, interrupting her thoughts. “The bacta worked its wonders.”

“Good,” said Satine. She winced a little at the persistent odd tone in her voice, but if Obi-Wan noticed it, she couldn’t tell. Instead, she kept her eyes trained on her bag. “I’m going to put on some dry clothes, if you don’t mind keeping your back turned?”

“Not at all, I’m actually going to do the same.”

She removed boots, then her tunic and pants in a jerking, mechanical fashion, which she told herself had nothing to do with one Obi-Wan Kenobi and everything to do with the fact that the cool night air was settling in and she was barefoot and had been wearing wet clothing. Layers of dry clothes, a set of stockings, and crawling into her bedroll would do the trick. 

“Are you decent?” he asked, just as she was pulling her base-layer top over her head. She took a moment to smooth it down before responding. 

“Yes.”

“Good. I’ve got some food in my bag for us to eat, but we may have to do some scavenging tomorrow.”

Satine turned back to see him digging through his pack. After a few seconds he drew out a pack of dried meat and a bag of nuts, as well as a small travel lamp. He straightened from his crouch and strode closer to her, then plopped onto the ground a few feet away. It seemed his energy was finally flagging, but he mustered enough to switch on the lamp, casting their hiding place in a soft blue glow. She examined him for a moment from her vantage point, sucked in a breath, and carefully sat herself down. 

He tossed the dried meat over to her and, as if reading her mind, said, “Before you yell at me, may I just point out that things turned out quite well and that you suffered no injuries?”

“You may,” she conceded. “But that’s not my concern here. What I don’t understand is why you didn’t even bother telling me the plan, much less consult me about it.”

“As I said, I knew you weren’t going to like it, and we didn’t have the luxury of arguing over it.”

“So you decided to just keep me in the dark?” she said, no longer bothering to restrain her long-festering aggravation. Obi-Wan sat up straighter. 

“We did what we had to do to ensure that you were as safe as possible, and in that case it meant not risking you putting up a fight and causing us to miss our window of opportunity.”

“Did you consider that maybe I wouldn’t have been so against it if I had _known_ what was going on?”

He rubbed a hand over his brow, and Satine bristled but held back, waiting to hear him out. “You weren’t the most agreeable when you knew about it, so I would say our concern was well-founded. If you’d had the time to really dig your heels in we wouldn’t have been able to get off the ship and we wouldn’t be here right now having this conversation. We’d be in a much more perilous situation with Death Watch hunters right on our tails.”

She was a little pleased to know that he thought her strong enough to prevent him from effectively dragging her overboard kicking and screaming, but that didn’t keep her from being very bothered by how he seemed to think her incapable of being reasonable. “If you would just listen to me for one kriffing second, maybe you’d get it through your _ast’ehut kovid_ that I would have been much more willing to cooperate with you and your plan if you had bothered to include me in it! What do you honestly expect me to do when I’m getting directions thrown at me and nothing but half-answers whenever I ask what’s going on? Of course I wasn’t going to be thrilled about a plan that you and Master Jinn so evidently seemed intent on keeping hidden from me.”

“I suppose that’s fair,” said Obi-Wan after a few moments, a frown on his face. “But did you seriously think that we would actively put you in harm’s way?”

“Of course not. I did, however, wonder if you had completely forgotten that I’m not like you—I don’t have special _J_ _etii_ powers that keep me from getting maimed or killed when I fall from that many meters above the water.”

He winced. “ _Ah._ That.”

“Yes, that,” said Satine. She was still unable to banish the bite from her tone. “If you had, oh, I don’t know, cared to mention that you were able to use the Force or whatever it was that you did to lessen the impact, then I wouldn’t have argued with you on it.”

“That… makes sense.”

“Is it too much for me to ask that you be honest with me? You and your master seem to have the perception that I require extra care, but I don’t need to be handled. I’m not a fool, Obi-Wan,” she added, cutting him off when he seemed about to protest. “I know that this isn’t the only time you two have shielded me from things.”

“I don’t think you need to be handled,” he said quietly. 

“Then prove it and stop hiding things from me, even if you think I won’t like them. I haven’t gotten to where I am by having people shelter me from the evil of the galaxy.”

Obi-Wan nodded slowly, looking thoughtful. “Alright. From now on, I’ll make sure you’re kept fully informed. I’m sorry for neglecting to do that previously.”

“Thank you,” said Satine. “I appreciate that. And I’ll hold you to it, you know.”

“Oh, I know you will,” he said ruefully, then he grew serious again and looked her in the eye. “But can you at least understand why we did what we did? It wasn’t because we think you’re weak or need to be coddled—we just know how to work with one another, and adding a third party makes it harder to predict how smoothly our plans will go. It’s easier to go with what we know, especially when we’re pressed for time and in dangerous situations.”

Satine blew out a long breath and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I can understand that, yes. I hope that you’ll be more willing to work with me now, though.”

“I will. I believe we’ll have quite a bit of time to get to know one another and figure out working as a team.”

“I think you’re right,” she smiled, matching the dry hint of humor in his tone. “I suppose I owe you an apology, as well. It’s hardly fair for me to expect you and Master Jinn to alter your normal teamwork so soon after joining me, and I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

“Apology accepted. Thank you, Duchess.”

She cocked an eyebrow at him as she reached for a strip of meat and he took a bite of one of his own. “We’re back to the formalities, are we?”

“It seemed the right thing to do,” he said with a shrug. “Besides, I doubt many people can boast that they’ve received an apology from the Duchess of Mandalore. I thought I would make it more official.”

“Well I hope you feel honored, then,” she said with a laugh. 

Obi-Wan gave her a playful smile and an over-exaggerated seated bow. “Oh, most certainly. Although, I believe you also may have insulted my head at one point, as well. Something _kovid_?”

“You caught that?” Satine felt her face yet again turn crimson. “I, ah, may have said that you have an _ast’ehut kovid_.”

“Which means?”

“...a fat head.”

Rather than get angry, he burst out into laughter. She, too, began giggling helplessly. 

“I’m sorry,” she managed to gasp out, “that was incredibly mean of me. I was just so _angry_ with you.”

“No, no, I deserved it,” he said, still grinning and wiping a hand over his face. “That makes for a much better story to tell my friends, anyway. _‘You’ll never believe it, but the Duchess of Mandalore told me_ _that I have the fattest head she’d ever seen_ —'”

“ _Ne’johaa!_ That's not what I said and you know it!” said Satine, laughing once again and chucking a strip of meat at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a!  
> "gedin'la" = "eccentric" (in this context, anyway -- it's a bit subjective, with different possible meanings)  
> "ast'ehut kovid" = "fat head" (may have fudged this one... I just combined the two separate words/translations of "fat" and "head" to make a phrase)  
> "ne'johaa" = "shut up"
> 
> Thank you for reading, kudos-ing, and commenting!!! So grateful for the support :)


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may not have done the best job editing (I'll check this out again over the weekend lol) but.... here we are!

Dreams, as all Jedi younglings were taught, were a natural part of being living sentient beings. Having dreams in their dormant states was one of the many ways that they were like all other beings in the galaxy. One did not have to be on the Light Side or the Dark Side, did not have to even be Force-sensitive to dream—all beings throughout time and space had this ability. It was something that united them all, just as the Force flowed in every living thing. 

However, being Force-sensitive meant that extra precautions were necessary, on several levels. Younglings in the Temple were known for having very little control over their mental shields and projecting their dreams—particularly the more horrifying ones—into the senses of any and all surrounding Force-sensitives who didn’t have their own shields in place. Crѐche masters had to be incredibly vigilant with their charges, not only to settle them down if they had nightmares and try to prevent them from causing their entire youngling clan to have a meltdown, but also to keep track of any trends in the dreams of the younglings. Any youngling prone to vivid dreams was closely monitored, whether the dreams were good, bad, or neutral. If they were bad dreams, however, they tended to warrant more swift action. A series of nightmares was a bad enough sign on its own—a potential indication of the Dark Side at play—but if they followed a theme, then that could be even more ominous. 

When he was just five standard years old, Obi-Wan Kenobi learned more about dreams and their relationship with the Force than the rest of his peers would learn for at least another five years. He was one of those few younglings who were flagged for having potential Force visions, and he was promptly sent to Master Yoda. Twice a week for nearly an entire year, then gradually less and less often as he grew older, Obi-Wan met with the Order’s grand master in the Room of a Thousand Fountains to begin to learn how to train his mind. He worked on strengthening his mental shields, which had naturally been rather poor, and was taught how to discern his dreams from the visions. 

_“Hm! A proclivity toward the Cosmic Force, you have, young Kenobi,_ ” Master Yoda had said when he deemed Obi-Wan old enough to understand such things. _“A rare thing, this is, in one so young—but dangerous, too, it is. See all dreams as visions from the Force, you must not. Careful and patient, you must be. Mindful of the future, yet grounded in the present.”_

Despite everything he had learned from Master Yoda and his teachers about dreams and how Jedi experienced them, there were some things that apparently he had yet to learn. In other words, at eighteen standard years of age, Obi-Wan was more than a little shocked to discover that the nightmare of the non-Force-sensitive duchess asleep near him had entered his own subconscious during their second night on Cheravh. 

At first, it seemed almost like a regular dream that had been influenced by the recent events in his life: there were hazy outlines of _beskar’gam_ -clad warriors, the clamor of raised voices and blasterfire, the flashing of plasma. The peculiar cloudiness curling through the shapes of the dream, however, reminded the faintly cognizant part of Obi-Wan’s being of the few times he knew he’d had actual Force visions. Perhaps the Force was trying to warn him of something that was on the horizon, something that he would have to be prepared to protect Satine from, or that the _Mand’alor_ was about to face. 

But then… then the fog evaporated from the scene and the words were more than vague shouts, and the new clarity felt as though he had just surfaced from murky water. More than that, he felt strangely split in two: simultaneously a part of the scene in a small, unfamiliar body while also an outside observer in his own body. On one hand, he felt very much tied to the event unfolding before him and could feel horror seizing him; on the other hand, he was detached, a mere witness to the upheaval. 

Obi-Wan felt himself become immersed. There was screaming and someone was yelling for a medic; soldiers were clearing a perimeter and pushing through the crowd; a blond man in fine _beskar’gam_ was catching the limp body of a woman in similar _beskar’gam_ , her auburn hair fiery in the weak sunlight; the blond man was shaking, crying out the name “Hélѐne” as he sunk to his knees with her in his arms; Obi-Wan felt his strange small body moving, lungs frozen, and he was running and stumbling toward the man and the dead woman—he was trailing behind a boy with bronze hair and a girl with fiery hair like the woman’s; he both saw and felt soldiers with the Kryze night owl sigil on their armor try to stop the children, watched himself—a skinny girl with white-blonde hair—get scooped into the strong arms; Obi-Wan could see the children’s tear-streaked faces, felt the tears in his own eyes, could hear them shrieking and howling for their mother and father and feeling the burn in his own throat—

The very present, very real sense of outright terror and grief that inundated his senses wrenched Obi-Wan from sleep and onto his feet, lightsaber ignited as he spun about wildly to find the threat. Half a second later, he laid his eyes on Satine and realized his mistake. He extinguished his lightsaber and knelt beside her rigid form, reaching to turn on the lantern and trying to move quickly but in a controlled manner. The gripping fear was clearly emanating from her—another one of her nightmares, but Qui-Gon wasn’t there to help her as he usually did. There was no gentle Jedi Master present this time with his fine grasp of human emotions and his ability to make the world feel like a soft blanket. There was just the inexperienced padawan. 

“Satine, you need to wake up.”

Nothing. Only a whimper that came from the back of her throat. _Kriff._ Obi-Wan wracked his brain to remember what Qui-Gon would do, but he felt at a total loss. What could he do without potentially crossing barriers of decorum? As far as he knew, simply touching her was risky by the standards of many Republic nobility but she had seemed fine with that before, but did that change since she was asleep? He couldn’t exactly yell at her or shake her to bring her to consciousness like he would if it was Quinlan or Bant, but what if that was the only choice? What if she didn’t wake? What was he supposed to _do_? 

“Satine,” he said a little more forcefully, giving her shoulder a light shake. “ _Please._ ”

A quiver ran through her. She shifted, curling in on herself, and the lamplight fell on her pained face. Obi-Wan could see a faint sheen of sweat had broken out across her forehead. As carefully as he could, he tucked his arm around her upper back and raised her into a semi-seated position. 

_I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me._ He breathed slowly, fully, trying to clear his own mind before trying to reach out to hers. It was a newer skill he had been working on, one that he had managed to do quite well with various creatures he and Qui-Gon came across in their travels, but hadn’t tried as often with other sentient beings beyond his friends at the Temple. That seemed a little too manipulative, perhaps, and too invasive. But if it was for the right reason… 

Obi-Wan pulled Satine, still in her bedroll, halfway into his lap to better support her as he felt himself settling into the Force. He could feel the glow of the Light in the fibers of his being, quelling his doubts. Eyes closed, he placed a hand on Satine’s clammy forehead and allowed the Force to flow from him to surround her, to try to break through whatever had shrouded her mind. The nightmare, memory—whatever it was—clutched tighter for a moment, then started to melt away, shrinking away from the Light and releasing the duchess from its grasp. 

“Satine?” he said, opening his eyes again.

She lurched forward at the sound of her name, her hand snatching at his, and inhaled violently as though she had been submerged in the lake again. Her wild, electric blue gaze found his face. He didn’t move, just tried to keep radiating safety and stability as she brought herself back to the present. It was several moments before recognition crept into her expression and her grip slackened. 

“Obi-Wan… I… How…?” she asked. Then she took a deep, albeit unsteady, breath before slowly trying again. “I’m sorry, I must’ve… ”

“Had a bad dream,” he finished when she trailed off. “There’s no need to apologize.”

“I woke you up, though— _osik,_ I didn’t scream, did I?” Satine looked around frantically and tried to free herself from her bedding.

“No, no, you didn’t.” Obi-Wan put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her. “Our position is still secure. _Udesii,_ Satine. We’re safe.”

With a sigh of relief, she let herself sink back against him where he had propped her up earlier. Now that he wasn’t worried about trying to rouse her from the nightmare, he was able to notice that it felt kind of _nice_ to have her nestled next to him like this. He liked being near her—part of him even liked the odd fluttering in his gut that he was getting as he watched her and felt the expanding and contracting of her lungs against him—but he was more than anything just glad to know that she was okay now, instead of being tormented by dark dreams. 

“You should go back to sleep, you must be exhausted,” she said after a few moments, pulling herself up halfway but not getting up to move away from him. 

“Will you be doing the same?”

“I’d… rather not, just yet. But you go ahead.”

“I’ll stay awake with you,” said Obi-Wan.

“You really don’t have to, it’s my fault you’re awake,” Satine started, then she paused, a slight frown on her face as she turned her head to look at him. “How _did_ I wake you up? Did I say something? Oh hell, I didn’t hit you or something, did I?”

“None of those,” he reassured her. He selected his next words carefully, though. “I, ah, sensed it. In a manner of speaking.”

“Your _Jetii_ senses, right. I suppose I was rather emotionally turbulent,” she said, with an attempt at a laugh that came out shaky and hollow. 

“It’s only natural to be affected like that. I’m so sorry—it seemed like a particularly unpleasant one.”

“It’s fine. It’s just… sometimes the past doesn’t really like to let you go." She ran a hand across her face and up through her hair, emphasizing the weariness that was stitched into her voice. 

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“I don’t think so, or at least, not now while it’s still so fresh. But thank you, Obi-Wan. And I _am_ sorry for waking you up. You really should go ahead and go back to sleep, I’ll be fine.”

“I’m staying up with you,” he said decisively. “You don’t need to talk if you don’t want to, but you seem like you could at least use the company.”

Satine graced him with the shadow of a smile, but in the lamplight he could see the purple under her eyes. Lack of sleep and limited food were starting to take their toll. He was glad that they had chosen to spend their day gathering whatever edible berries, plants, and nuts they could find and to stay in their little hideaway for another night, rather than push onward. It would give them some much-needed respite, even if it wasn’t nearly the amount they needed. “ _Atin Jetii_. If you insist on depriving yourself of more sleep, be my guest. You’re right, I don’t mind the company.”

“ _Atin_? That sounds like—”

“My name?” Her lips twitched in mild amusement. “That’s because my parents wanted it to be part of my name. It means ‘capable of endurance.’ Or, as I used it to refer to you, 'stubborn.'”

“Stubborn and able to endure. Sounds like they chose your name well,” he said. When she raised a brow at him, he added, “I mean it as a compliment!”

“I _am_ stubborn,” she admitted with a sigh. “They certainly predicted that part well.” To the delight of some hidden, uncharted part within Obi-Wan, she leaned herself back against him again. Then she froze, as if suddenly aware of what exactly she was doing. “Oh— I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize—”

“I don’t mind.” The words lept from his mouth, cutting her off. He could sense her embarrassment in the Force, as well as see the blush that was creeping up her neck and onto her cheeks. His own cheeks, he realized, were feeling a touch warm, too. 

Satine paused again and turned back to look him directly in the face. “You don’t?”

“No, it’s… Well, we’re friends, aren’t we?” Obi-Wan tried very, very hard not to break eye contact even as he could feel the tips of his ears burning furiously. _Really a master with words, aren’t you? Kriff, what would Vos say if he heard you?_

“Yes…” Her cautious response mercifully tore him away from the mental image of Quinlan mocking him. 

“Then why would I mind?”

“With a convincing case such as that, who am I to argue?” she said dryly, but while she visibly relaxed, she still stayed upright. “It’s not quite fair of me to use you as a pillow when I’ve got my bedroll and you don’t, though.”

“I suppose that’s a fair point.” 

When she delicately extricated herself from him, he reached over for his bedroll and crawled under the blankets. There was a slight ruffling sound as Satine wriggled her way closer so they were next to each other, mere centimeters apart rather than meters that had previously separated them. She let out a contented puff of air when she finally settled herself, and Obi-Wan glanced over at her, only to find she was looking up into the leafy canopy above with a thoughtful expression on her face.

“I suppose I imagined that being a _Jetii_ meant being the standoffish sort. Not particularly comfortable with closeness or anything like that—always having distance. Both emotional and physical,” she said, her eyes still heavenward. "I wouldn't want to impose on those boundaries."

“Have Qui-Gon and I given you that impression?”

“No, not exactly,” she said slowly. “You’ve actually both surprised me in some ways. But you can’t deny you two are reserved. Very different from others in the galaxy. Mandalorians, for instance.”

“I think most societies seem reserved when compared to Mandalorians,” he said with a snort of laughter, and he was pleased to hear one from Satine as well. “Your people are rather colorful.”

“That’s a polite way of putting it. But still, you Jedi are so... I don’t know, aloof, almost. You’re so collected and serene so much of the time, it’s hard to know what you’re thinking or feeling. It’s not unreasonable to imagine you’d be uncomfortable to have someone touching you.”

That… was valid. He tried to view himself and his master through her eyes: robed Force-wielders who pledged to a Code of detachment and universal care, rarely expressed emotions, meditated almost daily, and lived in a Temple with other Jedi who all had similar ascetic tendencies. Vastly different from the passionate _Mando’ade_ who threw themselves wholly into things, involving every aspect of themselves. Perhaps in comparison the Jedi seemed unfeeling, or as though they cared only on a superficial level. But then, she didn’t have the whole picture of the Jedi as he did. 

“You’re right,” he said finally, copying her posture and staring above him as he spoke. “It’s different, and it’s meant to be different. As Jedi, we’re taught to be compassionate, yet stay objective—to have control over our emotions so that they don’t control us, so we’re able to do the right thing rather than get distracted by our own selfish interests. But it makes us distant in a lot of ways.”

Satine rolled over so that she was facing him, and he turned his head to meet her gaze. Even in the darkness, her eyes seemed to have an enchanting gleam to them. Obi-Wan found himself caught, unable to look away from them even if he'd wanted to. 

“Will you tell me more about it? Being a Jedi, I mean?” she asked. 

“What do you want to know?”

“Well,” she said, breaking eye contact as she thought it over. “I know some things—your mission as Jedi to be peacekeepers of the galaxy and how that takes many different forms. And your Code, to some extent. That you’re taken into the Temple when you’re very young. And, of course, your history of fighting the Sith. And Mandalorians.” She grimaced slightly at that last bit. “When I was at the University, Master Koth came in and gave a sort of seminar to my cohort. I think that was almost two years ago, now.”

“Really?”

“Yes. He was the first Jedi I'd ever interacted with; before then I'd only heard Mandalorian stories about the Jedi. It was powerful to learn beyond all that I'd been told, to have confirmation that the Jedi weren't monsters or enemies but were protectors of life, to have a Jedi master look at me—a representative of an enemy people—and treat me with kindness... And then getting to walk through the Temple when I met with the Jedi Council, when they assigned you and Master Jinn to protect me—it was just so _beautiful._ I felt so out of place, like an interloper, but it was still so peaceful and comforting, and the fact that that’s your _home_ …” Her voice was almost wistful as she let her incomplete thoughts linger in the air. Obi-Wan hadn’t been able to take his eyes off of her face and met hers steadily when she looked at him again. “I don’t even have the Force, and I can’t sense things like you do, but I could feel the goodness there, and I can tell you and Master Jinn came from there because you have that same feeling about you. Does that make sense?”

Obi-Wan considered her for a few moments before answering simply, “It does.”

If Satine was at all irritated by his taciturn reply, she didn’t show it. “What was it like growing up there? Did Master Jinn raise you?”

“I didn’t become his padawan until I was thirteen—that’s around when most Jedi begin their apprenticeship. When I first came to the Temple I was three, which is a bit late, and was put in the Crèche with a group of other younglings with similar biologies. They try to make it easier on the Crèche masters by putting species with similar needs in their own groups. Younglings from aquatic worlds are grouped together, nocturnal species are put together, and so on. As we got older, we had more classes together and got more integrated into Temple life.”

“I assume you have friends you grew up with?”

“Oh yes, I have friends,” he said with an easy laugh. He realized with a slight pang that he missed them, out here in this turbulent sector where he and his master were the only Jedi. “Some of the closest friends I have are the ones I met in the Crèche. Quinlan and I were in the same youngling clan, even.”

“Quinlan?”

“Yes, he’s—” Obi-Wan struggled to find the right word to describe Quinlan Vos. “Well, he’s one of a kind. Quin’s got this incredible ability, psychometry, that allows him to see and feel the memories of objects when he touches them. That’s part of why they’re training him to be a tracker or do more undercover missions. But when we were younger we used to get in the worst sort of trouble—he’s always had his own strong convictions and ideas, and he follows them whether or not they fall in line with the rules. He’s very willful, and impulsive at times, and it was worse when he was a youngling.” He chuckled and turned to look over at Satine, who was watching him with interest. 

“And what about you?”

“Hmm?”

“What about you?” she repeated, prodding his arm gently. “You said the two of you used to get into trouble. Were you simply a follower?”

“Simply a follower? Oh stars, no. I, um… I actually wasn’t what you would call the most obedient of younglings,” he began. 

“ _You?_ ” He shot her a bemused look, and she stifled a laugh with her hand. “I’m sorry, please continue.”

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan replied primly, which elicited a few more giggles. “I had a bit of an issue with authority. If we were told to follow rules, I immediately tried to find ways to rebel. My instinct was to be oppositional, and then as I got older I tried to be more clever with it— what’s so funny?” 

Satine had burst into laughter again and was valiantly attempting to control it. “I’m sorry, it’s just— I could picture this from Master Jinn, perhaps, but _you?_ You’re the one who’s always reminding him about the Council and rules! How were you not the most uptight youngling the Order had ever seen?”

“Yes, well,” he huffed, smothering his smile in an attempt at mock-seriousness. “Qui-Gon was far better behaved than I was as a youngling. He only became more of the maverick type later—he and Quinlan have that similar tendency to do what they perceive to be right at the expense of rules, while I just liked to rebel. Master Qui-Gon was warned about me, actually, before he took me on as a padawan.”

“But he chose you anyway. Following his perception of what was right, perhaps?”

“Perhaps. I could see him saying that he was following the will of the Living Force, and he likely was since he rarely does something unless he believes the Force is telling him to. But we’ve theorized that there were certain Council members who pushed him in my direction because they hoped it would straighten me out, so to speak. If I was going to oppose anyone I saw as a representative of authority, then why not urge a wise yet notorious rule-bending Jedi to be my master? The only way I could rebel against someone like Qui-Gon would be to adhere to the Jedi Code and the Council’s decisions.”

As Obi-Wan looked over at her, he saw a wide grin on her face. “They played you! No _wonder_ you’re the way you are.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“It just makes sense, that’s all.”

“Wait, what makes sense?” he asked, unable to keep the mirth from his voice as he propped himself up on his forearm, trying to get a better angle to look down at her. “Tell me!”

“Oh, you know,” she gestured vaguely at him. “How you’re so bent on following protocol, but only really dig your heels in when you know it’s against what Master Jinn wants to do? Or how you seem to find it great fun to give me incomplete answers when I want to know what’s going on? Or how you’re just so generally stubborn?”

“You make me sound terrible!” 

Satine scoffed, but there was a twinkle in her eye. “Far from it. I find it almost endearing. When I’m not horribly annoyed with you.”

“Endearing?” He raised an eyebrow. 

“Yes, but don’t push it or else I’ll change my mind. You’re not the only headstrong one here, you know.”

“Oh, I’m only too aware of that.”

“Hey!” She planted her fingertips on his chest and gave him a small, playful push. He flopped onto his back dramatically, then tilted his head to look at her when she spoke again. “I will admit, though, I am curious.”

“Go on,” he prompted. 

“Just what sort of trouble did you and your friends get into that gave you such a reputation?”

“We were, ah, rather _diverse_ in our exploits, I must admit. Though, there was this one time that Quin and I were told not to go near some confiscated items, so naturally we went over for a close inspection, and wound up ingesting what turned out to be hallucinogens...”

*****

Long after the stories were done for the night and Satine’s breathing had slowed and her presence had misted with sleep, Obi-Wan was still awake, contemplating. He couldn’t remember the last time he had been so open to someone before. Or at least, someone who he hadn’t known for years at the Temple. It was strange to have spoken so in-depth about his friends to someone who had no clue who they were, to have talked about his childhood with someone who had only known him for a couple of months. Yet, he had: he’d regaled her with tales of his and Quinlan’s mischief, of how somehow Bant had chosen to befriend them, of how their circle had widened to include Garen, Luminara, Darsha, Siri, and others. While it had started out just as a means of distracting Satine from her nightmare—something her manner and questions had suggested to him that she needed—it had slipped into a real conversation. He could feel the authenticity behind her interest, and Obi-Wan had liked talking with her about his life. She was thoughtful, quick-witted, and seemed to understand him, somehow. It had been so easy— _she_ had made it so easy. 

_And yet,_ he thought to himself as he stole a glance at her sleeping form, _here you are, brooding._ It wasn’t his past that had him so lost in his own mind, nor was it anxieties of the coming day. For once, Obi-Wan was centered in the present, just as his master always advised. The Force had opened Satine’s mind to him without his prompting, without him even being _awake_ , and things like that didn’t simply happen. _Do they?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a!  
> "osik" = "shit" (at least, in my interpretation)  
> "udesii" = "easy" (as in "take it easy" or "easy now") or "relax"
> 
> I wanted to share a lil bit more bonding between these two :') I hope you enjoyed!!
> 
> As ever, thank you thank you for reading, leaving kudos, and commenting!


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again!! So sorry if you've been waiting on this update, life was busy and I went through the past chapters to make some (very minor!) edits and take some notes on details... Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter!

“The bombs at the western _Kyr’tsad’s_ base in the jungle region have successfully gone off,” said Gaanar, his enthusiasm leaking into his voice as he walked into the safehouse from the gathering dusk outside. Jango felt a swell of satisfaction, but kept his cool expression as he looked away from the holochart he and Cort Davin had been studying, and over to his soldier. 

“ _Jate._ Anything else?” he asked. 

“The message was brief, but it sounds like their troops in that section are pretty focused there and took the false lead that Ja’kad and Rau set up,” Gaanar said. 

“And,” added Ennan from the corner, where she was monitoring _Kyr’tsad_ comm system she had managed to hack into, “the general they’ve got in place on-world has the other bases on standby in case of an ambush.” 

Jango was exceedingly grateful that Ennan had smuggled herself onto Concord Dawn ahead of the invasion troops to help with the set-up and putting the pre-attack strategies into action. She was very good with these things. Granted, _Kyr’tsad_ seemed to have gotten a bit sloppy and complacent here on Concord Dawn and hadn’t updated the security measures on their commlines, rendering the system much more hackable than the others were across the rest of the Mandalore sector, but that didn’t detract from Ennan’s skill. Others wouldn’t have managed to get into the system as neatly and quickly as she had. Much as he was pleased to have her here, though, he was even more pleased at this bit of news. “So, when we hit the southern jungle base tomorrow, we’ll have their attention?” he said, turning to face her. 

“Just as planned.” The Twi’lek’s sharp canine teeth showed as she smiled. “Ja’kad got a comm through to me. They set the charges as soon as it got dark over there, guards didn’t notice a thing. Should be set to go just before dinner tomorrow.”

Gaanar stepped closer to the chart, nodding respectfully at Jango and then Davin before peering more carefully at it. “And we’ll be getting our troops in over here?” He pointed over at the northern plains, a good distance away from the jungle territory and only a few kliks away from their current safehouse. 

“Yes,” said Jango. He shifted his gaze over to Davin, and added, “You’ve got people ready to take out the scanners, right?” 

“Sure do, _Mand’alor._ Evani’s organized some of our best. And gotten word to the civilians we can trust to get ready to move out.”

Jango nodded curtly in appreciation before letting his eyes roam across the chart again. Two rotations, and they’d be making their move. Limited numbers, since he could only smuggle in so many of his people on-world without notice, but he was willing to sacrifice that to keep the stealth factor. Even if most of the civilians were able to get themselves out of harm’s way, he doubted all of them would, and he didn’t much feel like risking them more than he had to—which meant they couldn’t turn this into a major battlefront. They would just have to move quickly, which was far more doable with a smaller force anyway. If worse came to worst, however, he knew Ruusaan would have backup troops ready to go. 

*****

At exactly 1700 hours the next evening, as the sky was beginning to fade to a faint orange, the explosives at _Kyr’tsad’s_ southern base in the jungle detonated. Within minutes, their comm system started to buzz with messages of confusion, orders, requests for soldiers to be reallocated to the jungle region for support, requests for troops to hold until the general had conversed with different base commanders, and so on. 

Three hours later, the northern plains’ base’s comms went offline, which went unnoticed for some time by the rest of the _Kyr’tsad_ command centers due to the communications surrounding the explosions. By the time they were able to reconnect to the comm system to report what had happened—an entire base energy outage that lasted over an hour—the _Mand’alor’s_ forces had been dropped into the foothills of the plains, with _Kyr’tsad_ none the wiser.

* * *

From his perch a good thirty meters above the hunting party’s campsite, Qui-Gon could hear the Death Watch commandos’ voices quite clearly. The wind that curved its way past the jagged mountainsides served to carry the noise from below up to him, rather than drown it out; and, by the sounds of it, they were quite displeased with his efforts from the day. He’d successfully lured them deeper into one of the more treacherous mountain passes, after spending the first day easing them into things by skirting around the base of one of the other mountains, the second day leading them up a steep climb, the third day along the edge of a ravine, and the fourth day upwards again toward the entrance of the mountain pass. Those first four days, he’d stayed a good half-day ahead of them, leaving small hints of a trail to follow but not enough that they would grow suspicious. It was, Qui-Gon had to admit to himself, rather enjoyable to lead them on a chase such as this one, following where the Force encouraged him to go. 

This evening, the Force had quietly urged him to stay put—an odd suggestion, but he was game for it. So, Qui-Gon crouched on a ledge, pulled his robe more tightly around himself, and listened. 

“Hold up, we’re getting a holocomm from the Concordia base,” said a Mando with a gravelly voice. 

A nasally tone came next. “Live or recorded transmission?”

“Live,” replied gravel-voice. 

“ _Osik_ ,” said a third, tired-sounding hunter. “Patch it through.”

“On it, Vesque.”

There was a pause, then the tired hunter—Vesque, who seemed to be making an effort to not sound so tired anymore—spoke again. “Captain Vizsla, this is a surprise.”

 _“Vesque,”_ said the hologram, which sounded too young to be Tor Vizsla. Qui-Gon decided it must be a relative, perhaps a son or cousin. _“What is your status? Lord Vizsla grows impatient.”_

“We’re on the trail, sir. Less than a day behind.”

_“Then why haven’t you apprehended the target yet? Need I remind you that you outnumber them two to one?”_

“No, sir. We understand, but the Jedi—”

 _“We do not need your pathetic excuses,”_ said the younger Vizsla shortly. _“You should have had them days ago. Fortunately for you, we need bodies on standby to keep control over our assets. Otherwise, you’d be executed for your failure. There’s been a disturbance on Concord Dawn, and Zanbar has declared rebellion against us. Your hunting party is going to Zanbar at first light.”_

Qui-Gon smiled to himself. He would be able to contact Obi-Wan and the duchess in the morning by the sounds of it, and finally reunite with them. They would even perhaps have the chance to breathe for a few moments and rest up. And, it seemed that the _Mand’alor’s_ plans were shaking out rather smoothly thus far, which boded well for all of them. 

“Yes, sir,” said Vesque. Then, almost hesitantly, “And the duchess?”

_“She is no longer your concern. Lord Vizsla has it in hand.”_

The smile slipped off of Qui-Gon’s face. He was not at all fond of how that sounded. It seemed his comm to the teenagers would not be as much the joyous, relief-filled call he had imagined after all. He would, however, at least be able to rejoin with them and be one more layer of protection against whatever Vizsla had in store. And, much as Qui-Gon was unsettled by this news, it was advantageous knowledge to have. The Force had yet again been faithful when he followed its commands. 

* * *

Coronet City had perhaps at one point been considered Corellia’s crown jewel, but now it was beginning to resemble the lower levels of Coruscant. There were still a few well-maintained neighborhoods, mostly in the government center where wealthy buisness owners rubbed shoulders—and stars knew what else—with the increasingly corrupt political elite, but much of the city was littered with buildings falling into disrepair and grime from the industrial sites. It didn’t help that all sorts of scum from around the galaxy were tacitly welcomed here by the powerful, from spice smugglers to assassins to the occasional trafficker. 

At a corner table in one of the more popular and less extravagant cantinas along the gambling strip, Quinlan Vos took a long draught of his Corellian ale and let his eyes wander over the patrons. A boisterous group of what he assumed to be bounty hunters had just come in and started calling for drinks, swaggering their way toward the bar. Near the middle of the room, people of varying species and careers had crowded around a heated game of sabaac, offering advice and taunts. There were a few industrial workers scattered around, some enjoying company, others enjoying solitude with their drinks and meals. At the barstools, a Rodian, two Niktos, a Twi’lek, and a humanoid were watching a podrace projected on the holoscreen, letting out whoops and groans at random. 

Everyone here felt rough in the Force to varying degrees, as one could expect from a bar like this one. Beyond that, though, nothing seemed out of place. Even when he tried to use his psychometry on various items—his tankard and Tholme’s, the table, the seats—it yielded nothing of use. Some memories of humorous drunken exchanges from previous patrons, but not even the smallest clue to help them track down Davtokk. It was making Quinlan impatient, though he knew that he needed to wait and trust the process. Blowing their cover by being hasty or too inquisitive would get them nowhere. So, instead, he merely adjusted his worn flight jacket and glowered into his tankard of ale. 

“Careful now, you don’t want the bartender to think you don’t care for their drinks,” Tholme said as he slipped back into his seat with a new glass of whiskey. Quinlan glanced over at the bar where the hard-looking Human was shaking up a cocktail, the muscles of their arms more than prominent. 

“I see your point. Getting tossed out of a busy cantina probably wouldn’t qualify as keeping a low profile.”

“No,” agreed Tholme as Quinlan took another swig of his drink. The master’s eyes roamed around the room in a seemingly casual manner, but Quinlan saw them stall for a brief moment on the sabaac game. “And we wouldn’t want to insult them when they’ve given us a potential lead.”

“Oh?” asked Quinlan as he stretched and laced his fingers behind his head, just under the knot he had made to tuck his padawan braid into with the rest of his hair. He had to force himself to give all appearances of nonchalance; in truth, his pulse had quickened and he wanted nothing more than to spring right into action. This was a familiar feeling, one that Quinlan’s master had spent the past seven—nearly eight, now—years teaching him how to control so he didn’t go charging headlong into some disaster or another, but that didn’t mean that the instinct had been extinguished. In the case of Davtokk, it took extra focus to keep up his pretenses. The bastard had sold spice laced with some other heavy narcotic on Coruscant, which had resulted in several hospitalizations and at least three deaths in Republic City alone. Jedi had been sent to check the lower levels, too, since the regular Coruscanti law enforcement rarely bothered to give the inhabitants there the time of day. It all made Quinlan sick. 

Tholme took a sip of his brandy before looking back at his apprentice and answering. “Indeed. It seems there’s a young Human man who came in the other day asking about passage to Mos Espa on Tatooine. His own ship has apparently suffered damage and he has pressing business that doesn’t give him the time to wait for repairs.”

“And no one’s taken him up on it yet?” asked Quinlan. 

“If you recall, very few people choose to go to Tatooine or anywhere near it. And those who do… well, they’re not likely to admit that to a stranger they meet in the Core, are they? Apparently Jedi and other members of law enforcement will use it as a way to track illegal activity.”

“I’m surprised the bartender told you all that if _that’s_ a concern.”

“The young man also didn’t leave a tip, so they’re not particularly invested in his welfare,” said Tholme with the tiniest of smiles. “And they’re not fond of the Hutts, who likely are the man’s employers if he’s thinking Mos Espa is a safe place to hide.”

Quinlan shook his head, grinning wryly. His master was _exceptional_ when it came to smooth-talking and getting people to freely offer up information, both helpful and irrelevant. “And my friends think _I_ flirt with everything that moves. Clearly, they haven’t spent enough time with you.”

Tholme raised his un-scarred brow. “Flirting? If your friends are mistaking the art of gathering information for mere flirting, then perhaps you’re getting better at it. Assuming, of course, that _is_ what you’re doing when you employ such tactics.”

“Of course,” said Quinlan, gulping down the last of his ale and determinedly avoiding his master’s gaze. He felt amusement radiating from Tholme through the Force. “ _Anyway_ , did they say where Davtokk went?”

“We can’t be certain that it’s him,” Tholme reminded him in a low tone as they both rose from their seats. He deposited a few credits on the table and pulled his jacket back on. “But they said he was heading for the industrial district. There are a couple of thieves dens there, it’s possible he has some contacts.”

“Right. I’ll feel around while we’re checking out the area, see if that gets us anywhere.”

“Very good. But remember to be subtle. If he is indeed our target, he has a history of spooking easily.”

A couple of patrons nodded to the disguised Jedi as they headed toward the door, and the bartender waved goodbye. To their left, the cluster of bounty hunters was still as raucous as it had been when the crew walked in, but they were all gathered around what seemed to be a small hologram now. At a glance, Quinlan recognized it was a bounty listing—some well-groomed Human female, a noble perhaps—and based on the excitement in the Force, she had a good price on her head. 

“—still got a bunch’a credits from our last job—”

“What, you scared of a prissy girl and a couple Jedi?”

The Phindian’s taunt grabbed Quinlan’s attention and he gave the bounty a second look. _Death Watch offering 15,000 credits for Duchess Satine Kryze ALIVE. Suspected to be in company of two Jedi. 7,000 each alive or dead._

The first hunter, a Twi’lek, scoffed. “If the fuckin’ Mandalorians can’t catch her, that’s not a good sign.”

Apparently Quinlan’s steps had faltered, because he felt Tholme’s hand grab his elbow and give it a tug. He allowed his master to discreetly guide him the rest of the way out of the cantina and out to the street. Once they were far enough away from the door, though, he spoke. 

“Tholme—”

“Yes, I saw it too,” said Tholme evenly, keeping his attention ahead of them. “It seems that Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan are succeeding in their mission.”

“Yeah, but there’s a bounty out now,” hissed Quinlan. “Shouldn’t we warn them?”

Tholme was quiet for a few moments. “We can let the Council know, but I can’t guarantee that they’ll be able to reach Qui-Gon.”

“Going through the Council takes time. Can’t we just comm them directly? Since it’s important?”

“No, we cannot.” The finality in Tholme’s tone was a surprise. 

“What? Master, come _on_ —”

“It’s not because I don’t want to, Quinlan. Our comlinks can’t reach all the way to Mandalore from here, and certainly not through whatever communication barriers the duchess’ enemies have put in place. They can, however, reach Coruscant.”

“The ship’s comm could make it,” said Quinlan, his mind running through the possibilities. The thought of leaving Obi-Wan and Master Qui-Gon to a galaxy of bloodthirsty bounty hunters was not one that he liked to dwell on. If they weren’t in the middle of a mission, he would suggest to his master that they go to the Mandalore sector themselves to help. The Jedi had already agreed to defend the duchess anyway—he and Tholme would just be additional protection in the face of additional threats. But there was still Davtokk to deal with. _Dank farrik._

“We cannot abandon our assignment to go back to the ship. You know that. Besides, it will be quicker to contact the Temple and have the relay the message at this point.” Tholme abruptly turned them both toward an empty alley. “Keep watch for me.”

Quinlan nodded as his master glanced back at the main road, then pulled out his comm. A few moments later, the small hologram of Master Windu flickered to life.

_“Tholme. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon. Have you already apprehended Davtokk?”_

“It’s good to see you, Mace. We don’t have Davtokk yet—we’re on his trail—but we have important news you may want to relay to Qui-Gon.”

Mace rubbed his forehead. _“Why do I get the feeling that I’m not going to like this?”_

* * *

Having contacted Countess Ruusaan Ordo and gotten her word that she would pass on the information about the bounty hunters to _Mand’alor_ Fett, who in turn would try to reach Duchess Satine and her Jedi protectors (who would have thought that in this golden age of innovation, communication would be so challenging?), Master Windu was able to turn his attention to other matters. It was a relief to hear that Master Tholme and Padawan Vos had at least gotten a lead on Davtokk, but it would have been nicer if they’d already managed to arrest the criminal. There was quite a bit on the Order’s plate at the moment and Mace would’ve been pleased to cross something off the list. And provide influential senators with one more reason why the Jedi were operating just fine with the current level of Republic Senate oversight and didn’t need more. 

He nodded to the guards as he climbed the stairs from Senate Plaza into the large building, steadying himself with the Force as he prepared to interact with politicians for the rest of the afternoon. _There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony._ The first four lines of the Code helped to shore up Mace’s resolve against the onslaught of impassioned disagreements, obtuseness, and insincerity that always bled into the fabric of the Senate in the Force. Perhaps it was just his frustrations with the political games he’d been obligated to play, but he always felt there was something malignant about this supposedly austere body. It was probably the effect of the many self-interested and undoubtably corrupt beings to be found in the Senate. 

The floor gleamed back the glare of the overhead lights, only adding to Mace’s distaste for the building. He wound his way along the corridor, heading for the lift and greeting the occasional aide or politician he passed along the way. Thankfully, none of them stopped him for a long chat. Even better, none of them were in the elevator when he reached it, meaning he could have a bit more time to center himself before meeting with the senators from Naboo, Champala, Shili, Ryloth, Alderaan, Sullust, Malastare, Chandrila, and the Bothawui. A few of them were close acquaintances—Mace wasn’t sure that “friends” would be accurate terminology—and they all had been known to back the same bills on occasion, but it was more of the fact that they were all available at this time that they made up this group. He had a feeling that some of them were genuinely interested in hearing what the Jedi Council had to say on the prospect of increased oversight by the Senate, but some of them were unlikely to be swayed from their opinions no matter what he said. 

The lift stopped a few floors early, and Mace felt the presence of Master Adi Gallia on the other side of the doors before they even had the chance to open. He greeted her with a bow of his head. Adi responded in kind, with a mildly sardonic quirk of her lips. With two quick strides, she reached his side and assumed a neutral posture that mimicked his own as the doors slid shut.

“If I didn’t know you any better, Master Windu, I would start to think you actually enjoyed being in the Senate what with how often you seem to be here,” she said, her hands clasped together in front of her and her eyes trained forward. 

He shot her a disgruntled look, which caused the corner of her already-smirking mouth to hitch upward even more. Still, she didn’t even spare him a glance. “Unfortunately, it seems to come with the territory. We’re already far more constrained by politicians than I would like, having to lobby and cater to their pride just like the rest of them.”

Adi’s smile faded and a troubled expression took its place. “It is a difficult line which we must walk as servants of the Force first and servants of the Republic second. I understand the need for a clear agreement with the Senate, but the current level of oversight is already preventing us from fully reaching the Order’s potential to help the galaxy. And if this latest piece of legislation passes…”

“It is likely to exacerbate the very problems they’re trying to solve with it,” sighed Mace as he massaged the bridge of his nose. “Were you just speaking with Chancellor Valorum?”

“I was, yes. He seems to sympathize with our situation, but he also seems concerned about alienating those who support his leadership and also are dedicated to the passage of this bill. People are frightened, Mace—I cannot sense the source of it, however long I meditate, but the fear is real. They think that having greater control over us, being able to deploy us at will and conserve our use for when they need us, is going to keep them safe.”

“I’ve sensed it too, and the source is just as elusive for me. As well as for Master Yoda. We will have to continue to be vigilant.”

“Yes, we will,” she agreed. They lapsed into silence, and mere seconds later, the elevator glided to a stop once again. 

“May the Force be with you, Master Gallia,” said Mace with a bow after stepping into the hallway. 

“And with you, Master Windu.”

He turned and began to walk the long hall towards Senator Palpatine’s office, enjoying his last few moments of quiet before he had to deal with the dignitaries. There was only the faint sound of his steps, the hushed swish of his robe as it swept along the floor. As he neared the designated chamber, however, he began to hear murmured conversation. Mace reached out into the Force and felt two presences, relatively unremarkable among the other signatures populating the Senate building, and as he rounded the curve of the hallway, he saw Senator Palpatine speaking with a well-dressed Muun. It took a second, but the Mace recognized it was Magister Hego Damask of the InterGalactic Banking Clan. 

“Ah, Master Windu!” Palpatine greeted him jovially, turning at his approach. “The others are inside. My apologies—have you met Magister Damask?”

Mace had little love for the Banking Clan, but he bowed and adopted a curteous smile all the same. “I believe it was some time ago, and rather brief, but yes. I trust you are well, Magister?”

“Thank you, Master Windu. I am.” Damask looked at him coldly, though that was hardly out of character for one of his species and status. 

“Magister Damask was just delivering a gift from his travels. He knows I’m quite fond of Serenno’s wine,” said Palpatine. 

Serenno, where Dooku was apparently now a count, according to the Holonet. Mace thought of his old friend and wondered if he could say Dooku truly was his friend still. It had been at least two years since they had last spoken, and the former Jedi had made his dissatisfaction with the Council very clear when he left the Order. Perhaps he was taking out a loan from the Banking Clan, though _why_ he would need a loan was a mystery. Perhaps it was something else. 

“And I was just leaving. It was a pleasure, as always, Senator Palpatine. Master Windu,” said Damask, offering the other two a brief bow. “Have a good evening.”

Palpatine and Mace bid him goodbye, then the senator graciously ushered the Jedi master into his offices. The senators inside stopped whatever quiet conversation they’d been having at the pair’s entrance, then greeted Mace warmly. 

“How are you, Master Windu?” asked the young senator from Alderaan, Bail Antilles. His expression was polite, but earnest, as if he wanted a real answer. Mace had the feeling that this young man might prove to be an ally to the Jedi Order’s cause.

“I am well, Senator Antilles. Tired, but well, all things considered.” 

Mon Mothma, the other relatively youthful senator in the room, nodded sympathetically and exchanged a glance with Antilles. _Perhaps another ally…_

Sella Rae, the Togruta senator from Shili, also looked troubled. “I do not think we give you Jedi enough credit, Master Windu. From the sounds of it, you have knights in nearly every sector of the galaxy offering assistance.”

“You are kind, Senator Rae,” said Mace, offering her a small bow. 

“Speaking of every sector, has there been any news from Mandalore?” said Palpatine, settling himself behind his desk and fixing Master Windu with a thoughtful gaze. “The Senate has received nothing since Duchess Satine’s departure from Coruscant, and there are many of us who are concerned for the young lady’s welfare.” 

Mace bit back a sigh. Mandalore was a crucial sector and the outcome of this war could have a heavy impact on much of the galaxy, it was true, but he was getting irritated by the constant questions. He had to remind himself that it was natural for world representatives to be anxious.

“The Jedi Council has received very few updates, and given the delicate nature of the situation, we have to keep the details as confidential as possible.” _That_ was unlikely to gain him any support, Mace knew—it would more likely push people to be interested in greater Senate oversight if for no other reason than to quell the senators’ rabid curiosity. The disgruntled movements of the senators from Ryloth, Sullust, Malastare, Champala, and Bothawui confirmed that theory. “I can say, however, that Duchess Satine is still alive, as is _Mand’alor_ Fett. They seem to be making some progress, as well.” 

The senator from Champala, Mas Amedda, huffed, drawing the eyes of everyone in the room. “Forgive me, Master Jedi, but that’s hardly reassuring. Without the full information, the Senate doesn’t have the same luxury of confidence that you Jedi are getting to enjoy.”

Mace met the Chagrian’s gaze as blandly as he could. Internally, he had quite a few sharp responses in mind. But, alas, he had to remember that he was trying to gain the support and sympathies of these senators, and retorts were not the best way to go about achieving that goal. 

“The Jedi are not receiving much information, Senator Amedda,” Rae reminded him. “I’m sure if the Mandalorians were offering more updates, they would have been able to provide us with more details that do not fall under the category of ‘confidential.’ Am I correct, Master Windu?”

“Yes, Senator Rae,” said Mace, giving her a grateful nod. “As I’m sure you’re all aware, the Mandalorians are not particularly trusting of the Jedi and the Republic. That they have sought our assistance and are giving us any news at all is surprising. They have asked us to keep things as private as possible to ensure the success of the duchess and _Mand’alor’s_ mission, and we are honoring that request.”

“So you say,” said Amedda with a wave of his hand. “But what we don’t know is just how much you’re keeping from the Senate. This is why the Order needs more oversight.”

Rae and Mothma looked at one another briefly, and Mothma leaned forward towards Amedda, who was seated almost directly across from where she sat. “But to bring in more Senate involvement runs the risk of compromising the successful implementation of Duchess Satine and _Mand’alor_ Fett’s government. In such situations, secrecy—and restricting information on a need-to-know basis—surely is necessary.”

The Sullustan senator piped up to argue, and Mace leaned back in his chair, bracing his elbows on the armrests and steepling his fingers in front of his mouth. Thus began the petty, predictable back-and-forth of political negotiating. He would stay quiet for a while and get a read on their current standpoints, see where he might be able to persuade, where he might be able to bolster when the right time came. Until then, he would let the senators debate amongst themselves and let them grow tired of hearing the same voices and arguments go around and around. Only once they were ready to hear his voice would Mace Windu speak. The future of the Jedi Order was too important a matter for him to allow his words to be drowned out by the incessant chatter of politicians.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used a bit of "Legends" material, so if you don't recognize the name "Hego Damask," here's a link https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Darth_Plagueis/Legends 
> 
> You can expect some more Obi and Satine in the next chapter :) 
> 
> Mando'a!  
> "jate" = "good"
> 
> Thank you thank you thank you for reading, kudos-ing, and commenting!!! I've been having a lot of fun writing this fic, and your support means the world <3


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before jumping into this chapter (which is admittedly a pretty solid amount of self-indulgent fluff, but also plot too I promise), I just want to give a huge thank-you to my friend who has been beta-reading for me! Seriously. Thank you thank you.  
> AND thank you to everyone who has been reading and been so encouraging!!
> 
> Hope y'all enjoy this "sweet 16th" chapter :)

Weak morning sunlight peeked through the flat clouds that stretched across the sky, making for a strange ethereal dawn at Obi-Wan and Satine’s campsite. They were having a slow start to the day, which the duchess was quite appreciative of, and had hardly spoken yet to one another beyond the murmured “good-mornings” accompanied by the soft, sleepy smiles they shared as they fixed their tea. It had been a peaceful night, and despite the aching of her bones from sleeping on the ground, the heaviness of her limbs, the slightly sour hollow pit of her stomach, and the underlying anxiety that dwelt in the back of her mind, Satine felt more at ease than she had in a long while. Which was to say, she was able to quiet the worried thoughts in her head to a dull murmur without having to actively distract herself to achieve that end for once. 

“It looks like we may get a rainstorm today. We’ll have to get some shelter,” said Obi-Wan, breaking the comfortable silence. His eyes were more gray than blue today, like small mirrors of the sky, and were currently taking in the growing thunderheads on the horizon. 

“I suspect we will.” They had left the albeit spotty coverage offered by the forested terrain and had found themselves in what could best be described as Cheravh’s wasteland, so they would definitely have to do some searching. Satine stole a glance at the padawan over the rim of her steel camp mug, and when he seemed not to notice, she allowed her gaze to linger a little longer than usual. His cheeks were thinner from their sparse living, and along his jaw she noticed traces of scruff. He must’ve not taken the time to shave since they had leapt from the ship. Her eyes roamed up from his jaw, their attention caught by the flecks of light that danced off of his eyelashes and his hair, bringing out the coppery tone. His hair had grown, left untrimmed since they had left Coruscant nearly two months before, and was currently slightly disheveled—not fitting of whatever regulation haircut meant for padawans, Satine was sure, and that was a bit of shame. The way it fell now, in such a charming manner… _well_. Self-consciously, she threaded her fingers through the curls of her own hair and immediately came across a tangle. It had gotten downright unruly as it always did with humidity, and was made only worse by lack of proper grooming. 

She swallowed down some more tea in an attempt to redirect her attention, only for her eyes to wander back over to Obi-Wan when he raised his right arm and flexed the hand experimentally. After inspecting his forearm for a few seconds, his gaze flitted over to catch her watching him. She hastily looked away. _Damn it._ A blush began to spread across her chest, neck, and cheeks even as a shudder ran through her body. Satine drew her cloak more tightly around her shoulders to quell what was surely the effects of the morning chill. 

“Yes?” he asked. The impish curve at the corner of his mouth drew her gaze back to him again, and she silently cursed it for its magnetic quality. She blew at the steam curling from her tea in what she hoped appeared to be a casual movement. 

“How is it healing?” Satine gestured to his arm, making a concentrated effort to seem nonchalant and conceal her scarlet-tinged skin. 

Obi-Wan frowned slightly at it, rotated his wrist again, and nodded. “Quite well. I don’t feel it anymore, and the scar’s fading nicely.”

“May I?”

“Of course,” he said, offering her his forearm when she placed her mug on the ground and scooted closer. His skin was pleasantly warm to the touch, making Satine acutely aware of how cold her fingertips were as she skimmed them along the shallow, purple groove that marred his arm. “Well?” he asked after a moment. “What’s the verdict, o most benevolent and noble of healers?”

At the teasing note in his tone, she raised her head with an arched brow and a response on her lips that faltered the instant she realized how close their faces were. She backed away a few inches and cleared her throat delicately. That was enough to regain some semblance of her regular composure. “Flattery won’t get you a better result, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“Flattery? I don’t know _what_ you mean.”

Satine snorted, shaking her head. “Well, at any rate, you’re right—it’s healing beautifully.” She made to shift herself back to her original sitting place a couple feet away from the padawan, when his hand came to rest on top of hers.

“Wait,” said Obi-Wan. Her movements came to a screeching halt and she looked up at him, feeling as though the startling intensity of his gaze had somehow ripped all the air from their vicinity. “Thank you. It wouldn’t be looking as good as it does if it hadn’t been for your care, so thank you for tending to my burns. I realized I never did thank you for that.”

“Of course.” Her mouth felt as though she had tried to swallow dust. “I couldn’t very well let you allow it to get infected.”

“Whether or not it would’ve gotten infected is up for debate,” he said, a lopsided smile playing across his features. “I’d have gotten around to taking care of it. Eventually.”

“So you say. Although, I’m not particularly inclined to believe you. I get the sense you’re only saying what I’d like to hear,” she said with a smile to match his. 

“You wound me.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Satine gasped in mock indignation. “It would only mean yet another wound for me to patch up for you, since you and I both know you can’t be bothered to tend to your own injuries, and I would hate to create more work for myself like that.” Breathing was coming more freely now. This was familiar, safe territory, and she slipped into the routine as easily as she always did every time he goaded her so. 

Something in her chest swelled at the sound of Obi-Wan’s delighted laughter. “Such lack of faith in my abilities, Duchess! It’s a wonder you trust me at all.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s so much a lack of faith in your abilities, but perhaps a lack of faith in your sense of self-care. Are all you _Jetii_ so reckless?”

“Reckless? As I recall, it was _you_ who decided to tackle an armed _Kyr’tsad_ warrior. Which,” he grimaced slightly, looking a touch embarrassed, “I believe I’m overdue on thanking you for, as well.”

“Is that an admission that I saved your life?” She felt the corners of her mouth lift higher. 

“Well, as I said before, I had it in hand, but—”

“No, no, don’t spoil it!” Satine laughed, covering his mouth without thinking. “ _Ba’gedet’ye,_ you ingrate.” A note that sounded suspiciously like affection laced her words, and Obi-Wan seemed to have at least noticed the lack of seriousness behind her insult, because he grinned against her hand. She quickly retracted it and placed it back on her mug. 

He looked like he was about to say something, when a distant roll of thunder echoed across the landscape. They both turned toward the gathering dark clouds, quietly listening for a few moments before he broke the silence. “Might I recommend that we get a move on?”

“What a fine idea, Padawan Kenobi,” she replied, sweeping up her bag with as dignified an air as possible. “I’d hate to get caught in the worst of that thunderstorm.”

*****

As their shoddy luck would have it, the rain found them before they found decent shelter. Miniscule streams ran along the ground, indicating a slope to it that Satine hadn’t previously noticed, and mud was starting to gather on the sides of her boots. She had a feeling one of them would lose their footing if they kept going for much longer—probably her, loathe as she was to admit it even to herself. It hadn’t been so miserable at the start, when it was just sprinkling, but now it had escalated to a downpour and the thunder was terribly close to being directly overhead. The only potential upside to this weather was that it successfully swapped out her spiraling anxious ponderings revolving around the question of whether she was doing enough for her people (she had the strong guilty feeling that she wasn’t), to anxious thoughts centering on whether or not she and Obi-Wan would make it out of the storm. 

Lightning streaked through the sky only a few kliks away, followed by a particularly loud crack that made her nearly jump out of her skin. The earth trembled from the reverberation of the thunder, and Obi-Wan tensed a few steps ahead of her. “I think there’s some coverage up ahead,” he shouted over the din, turning to look at her as he pointed at some destination obscured to her by the rain. 

“Let’s go, then!” More lightning lit up the dark afternoon and Satine didn’t hesitate to take the padawan’s hand when he offered it to her and helped her along the slippery ground. Her pride was something she was willing to sacrifice if it meant more quickly escaping this extreme exposure to the elements. More bone-rattling thunder rumbled above them, and she reflexively tightened her hold on Obi-Wan’s hand when her body shuddered in response and hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Yes, she was very much okay with accepting his assistance to get some level of cover from this hell. Proving her mettle could come _after_ they reached the shelter. 

With a gentle but blatant shove at the small of her back, the padawan sent Satine half-stumbling through a convenient gap in one of the large rockpiles that dotted the barren zone of the planet. It gave way to a small cavern about the size of the thicket they had discovered that first day. A moment later, Obi-Wan stepped through the uneven entryway, pulling off the hood of his robe from where it had been plastered to his head by the rain. “Well, that was unpleasant.” He glanced back out at the raging storm. 

“To put it mildly,” she said as she began the difficult process of removing her drenched cloak, then the _beskar’gam_ that protected her chest and shoulders. The fairly temperate weather they’d had since arriving on Cheravh was much cooler due to the rain; now that she wasn’t distracted by the raindrops beating against her, she could feel the faint numbness at the tips of her nose, ears, and fingers. To make matters worse, she could feel her nose beginning to run. Steam rose off of Obi-Wan in lazy swirls, and she could see both his breath and her own, even in the deep shadows of the cave. 

Decisively, Satine strode toward the entrance and wrung out her cloak, tossed it back further into their refuge, and turned to her companion. “Give me your robe.” She held out her hands expectantly toward him. Rather than question her or even make a comment, he simply handed it over and watched her repeat the process. When she finished and went to lay flat the two articles of clothing he crouched beside her to help, spreading out her cloak while she dealt with his robe. 

“We’ll have to do that with the rest of our clothing if we don’t want to freeze. How are your boots?” he said as he smoothed out a wrinkle at the corner of her cloak. 

“Not as bad as they could be since they’re waterproofed. But I think some got in anyway from the top.”

“Mine, too.” Obi-Wan sat back with a soft grunt and began tugging off his boots, which prompted her to do the same. She pulled off her wet socks to find purple-tinged toes that made her wrinkle her nose in disgust. A flash outside and the roll of thunder tore her attention away from the sight, though, and she spied their bags laying against the rocky wall. Their _waterproofed bags_ _with their extra clothing._ Without a word, she pushed herself to her feet in an awkward crawling motion, and upon arriving at the backpacks, moved aside the sodden bedroll and worked at the fastenings of the closest one with her cold-blunted fingers. That accomplished, Satine delved in and triumphantly hoisted up a dirty, but barely-dampened, Jedi tunic. 

“Here, put this on.” She didn’t turn as she threw it over her shoulder at him, but went on digging and drew out a few more items—a pair of pants, an undertunic, another pair of socks—and waved off his thanks. Just as she was about to leave his bag alone, she caught sight of the lantern and pulled that out as well, flicking it on. Then, aided by its glow, she eagerly went into her own bag and found her clothing from the day before. It was remarkable how utterly joyful she was to pull out the already-worn base layers, maroon longsleeve tunic, and tan pants. 

Satine peeled her current tunic away from her skin, and only once it was halfway over her head did she consider the fact that she ought to have asked for some privacy before undressing. Predictably, her upper body began to heat up yet again. “Um,” she said, suspending her action with one arm almost entirely free of the shirt and her head successfully through the neckhole. “I suppose you’ve turned around, right?”

There was a beat, and a light snort, then: “Yes, although I wouldn’t object to some type of warning next time.”

“Yes, well,” she cleared her throat before continuing politely as she yanked the tunic the rest of the way off, followed by her undershirt. “My apologies. I wasn’t thinking, and I did not intend to give offense.”

“You do not offend me in the slightest, Duchess.” Those words accompanied by that tone, which suggested a teasing smile, gave her pause. They sounded oddly familiar. She adjusted the hem of her tight top base layer and peeked over her shoulder, catching only a glimpse of his arm from her vantage point. 

“Have we had this conversation before?”

“Not precisely, no. I can hardly expect you to remember, of course, but I made a bit of a blunder upon our first meeting and asked your forgiveness for any offense I may have given.”

“And I said that you didn’t offend me in the slightest,” Satine said, the memory coming to her. “Yes, I remember now.” She turned back again and set to work on her pants with a smile tugging at her lips. The image of the adorably slack-jawed, embarrassed padawan she had met in the Jedi Temple’s hangar was vivid in her mind’s eye. 

“That was a bit of a hasty judgment to make, given that you hardly knew me,” continued Obi-Wan cheerfully. 

“Well, you _didn’t_ offend me with your arrival. I found it amusing.”

“Glad as I am to know that I’m a source of entertainment for you, I cannot help but point out that saying _I_ don’t offend you in the slightest is very different than saying _that particular event_ didn’t offend you.”

“Is this your way of asking me if I now would deem you offensive, after having the opportunity to spend an extended amount of time with you?”

“Perhaps not at this exact moment. My current state could be described as nothing short of appalling, what with having to rewear unwashed clothing that I’ve worn Force knows how many times already.”

“I’d be in no position to judge if that’s the basis,” said Satine with a laugh. “Are you decent?”

“As decent as I can be given the circumstances.” When she turned back and met his eyes, she watched them scan her face, his brows raising and then furrowing in mild concern. “Are you that cold?”

“Hm?”

“Your lips are blue. And your nose,” he added quickly. Oddly enough, the tips of his ears were turning a light shade of pink. She glanced away from him, pretending not to notice and also giving herself a chance to come up with some sort of response. 

“It’s fine. Aren’t you at all cold though?”

“A bit.” He shrugged. “Do you have any other layers you can put on?”

Satine shifted over to her bag once again and found another tunic, which she shoved unceremoniously over her head. “Yes, I do.” The shirt helped allay the cold a little bit, but she could still feel it seeping into her bones. She made a vain attempt to disguise her shiver. 

“Still cold?”

“No. Perfectly warm, thank you,” she sniffed.

“Come on, we’ll both be warmer if we sit next to each other. So long as that doesn’t offend you, of course.” He quirked an eyebrow at her, the edge of his mouth lifting to match it. 

She narrowed her eyes at him but nestled herself beside him, up against the stone wall, so their arms were touching. “It’s certainly less offensive than going completely numb, I suppose.”

He just chuffed a laugh in response, and something skittered through Satine’s gut when she saw the sparkle in his eyes. _You’re seeing things. You’re exhausted. You haven’t had a proper meal in days. You very well might be catching a cold on top of it all. You’d better get a grip on yourself._ She was irritatingly off-kilter today, it seemed. It was likely the weather messing with her, she reasoned, but it was still frustrating. 

She stared out beyond the entrance of their little nook where the rain continued to come down, accompanied by gusts of wind, the faint blazes of lightning, and the rumble of thunder. Somewhere to her left she could hear water dripping from a leak, and to her right she could feel Obi-Wan’s steady breathing and the warmth that radiated off of him. The symphony created by the blending of these rhythmic patterns was only interrupted from time to time from their alternating quiet sniffles, which began to stitch their way into the greater work until they ceased to draw notice. Satine’s fingers and toes still ached from the cold, but that began to fade as everything else beckoned to her, coaxing her to let her eyelids slip shut and to melt against the solid and comforting warmth next to her. 

*****

She was jostled awake when her pillow—Obi-Wan’s arm, she registered belatedly—shifted abruptly from under her head. Blinking with her mind still in a bit of a fog, Satine peered up to see that the padawan was on his feet and standing by the entrance with his back to her, his body rigid and his unlit lightsaber in hand. All the hazy remnants of her cozy, sun-soaked dream dissipated. She scrambled to her feet and discovered that her body had gotten incredibly stiff from her impromptu nap. 

“What is it?”

He glanced back at the sound of her whispered question. “I sense something. Stay in here.”

“Not kriffing likely,” she muttered to herself, grabbing her stun blaster from where it rested next to her bag, and following him outside. 

Although the main fury of the storm had moved on, rain was still falling and partially covering the new, peculiar smell that was wafting near them. Satine blinked a few droplets out of her eyes and moved to join the padawan, whose lightsaber was now lit and at the ready. Obi-Wan didn’t look at her as she reached his side, but huffed a sigh of resignation. His face pinched in distaste when he inhaled again. 

“Hiding in there while you face whatever it is that you’re sensing won’t do me much good,” she said crossly. She took a cautious sniff at the air; it wasn’t as putrid a scent as his expression seemed to suggest, but it was definitely distinctive, and struck her as one she had smelled before. 

“Did I say anything?” He smiled, but it was strained. His eyes were still trained forward and sweeping side to side. He tensed for a moment, then stepped forward and threw his arm in front of her as if to restrain her. “Stay back.”

The smell was a bit stronger, and over the splattering rain Satine could hear some scrabbling and what sounded like whining and growling. Then, two large creatures bounded around the curve of a nearby rock formation, making her startle from the suddenness. She stared in shock at the low-bellied animals with their six legs, golden eyes, tan fur, and swishing whip-like tails. _Strills._ The scent alone should’ve tipped her off. They let out excited yelps as they ran forward, and were trailed by a third with yellow-tinged fur who came barreling around the bend after them. Obi-Wan tightened his grip on his weapon but otherwise didn’t move. Puzzlement marred his features as he watched the strills, who, despite their animated movements and noises, kept a couple meters away. 

“Lower your lightsaber,” said Satine as calmly as she could. To her surprise, the padawan slowly began to do exactly that. Her heart was hammering against her ribcage, not out of terror, but out of a sort of hopeful trepidation. These strills were well-groomed and had evidence of training, and if that meant she thought it might....

A tall Mando in full _beskar’gam_ came from behind the same rockpile, a rifle in their hands but not wielded in an entirely threatening way. Obi-Wan raised his lightsaber immediately and shifted to better place himself between her and the Mandalorian. Another powerfully-built Mando stalked onto the scene as well, hefting a bowcaster. Two more followed who were similarly outfitted and armed, both having the same large stature of the first two. When the first one that had appeared—the one with the rifle—shifted to accommodate them, Satine caught sight of the strill signet.

“Obi-Wan, put it _down_.” The imposing tone in her voice sounded both foreign and natural to her own ears. It felt almost like her father.

Kenobi didn’t completely listen, obstinate _Jetii_ that he was, but he did hesitate and look back at her with a slightly stunned expression. 

“I’d listen to the duchess, kid,” the man with the rifle called out conversationally. “Much as I’d hate to put a hole through that pretty face of yours, I won’t hesitate to do it if you do something stupid like hurt my pets.” Even through the voice modulator of the helmet, Satine recognized the rough, accented voice that she’d heard many times as a child. She found herself torn between a grin and a scowl as she looked between the practically bristling _Jetii_ and the Mandalorian. So much for the Jedi-Mando enmity being entirely a thing of the past.

“No you won’t, Dirk Carid, because I suspect you would not want to deprive me of my protector,” she said, raising her voice to be heard over the rain. “And, because he is going to put his lightsaber down.” At the sharp glare she shot in Obi-Wan’s direction, to which he responded with a bit of a glower of his own, the Jedi apprentice extinguished his blade. That business taken care of, she ducked around him and walked purposefully over to Dirk, who had just pulled off his helmet to reveal his gray hair and patched eye. The tips of the two small horns on his forehead poked through his hair, reminding Satine of his quarter-Devaronian heritage. “It’s been a long time, but it is good to see you again.”

The tall Mando reached out and clasped her forearm when she extended it to him, and she returned the gesture. While his hand easily spanned hers, she barely made it halfway around his due to the sheer size and the armor on top of it. “It is very good to see you, too, _ner Jorad’alor_ ,” said Dirk, pressing his fist and bowing to her when they had released one another. “Perhaps we can continue this somewhere drier? Our covert isn’t too far. There should be extra beds for you two. Assuming,” he nodded over in Obi-Wan’s direction and started speaking a bit more loudly, “ _gar_ _Jetii_ over there is willing?”

Satine cast a glance over her shoulder at Obi-Wan, who was looking mildly put-out but unlikely to argue. “Well, _ner Jetii?_ ” She asked, mirroring Dirk’s language but affecting it with an ironic edge. The padawan plainly heard it, as he stared at her testily for a moment before he disappeared into the refuge. Less than a minute later he reemerged with their belongings. “Obi-Wan, this is Dirk Carid,” she said once the padawan came to stand with them. “He was a good friend to my parents. Dirk, this is Padawan Kenobi.”

“It’s very good to meet you, sir,” said Obi-Wan with a polite, if slightly unfriendly, half-bow. Dirk’s eye traveled over the young man and grunted in what Satine assumed to be grudging acceptance before he nodded in return. 

“Sure it is. Good to meet you too, kid. ‘Preciate you keeping our duchess safe. Now, let’s get out of this rain.” He motioned to the other Mandos, who all nodded and hurried back the way they came, then whistled for the strills. “The two of you showed up on our speeder’s scanners while we were running a patrol, so we thought we’d come check it out. We’d heard that you might be in this part of the sector. But isn’t there supposed to be another _Jetii?_ ” Dirk pivoted to walk backward for a few steps, surveying Obi-Wan and Satine’s temporary hideout as if another Jedi might materialize from it. 

Satine exchanged a look with Obi-Wan and bit her lip. Rationally, she knew Master Jinn was fine—Obi-Wan would have felt something if he wasn’t—but she couldn’t help feeling uneasy. They’d seen the Jedi master five days ago and hadn’t heard a word from him since. “Yes, but he’s… well, we’re not entirely sure where, but we split ways so he could lead the _Kyr’tsad_ hunting party away from us.”

“Huh. I’ll see if we can get a hunting party of our own out in the morning,” said Dirk, facing frontwards again as they neared the speeder. The other three members of the crew were already loitering by the open-air vehicle, conversing with a fourth Mando at the controls. The driver rose to hail Dirk, Satine, and Obi-Wan as they approached. 

“ _Wayii!_ It’s a good thing we found you when we did. You kids look like a pair of drowned womp rats!” she said. “You make the best lookin’ drowned womp rat I’ve ever seen, Your Grace, but still.”

Satine suspected that the driver was accurate in her assessment. She certainly _felt_ like a drowned womp rat. Another involuntary shiver ran through her—was the rain getting icier?—and Dirk clapped a hand on her shoulder. “Even more reason to get these two somewhere dry, eh, Mairu? You and Parj bring ‘em in. The rest of us will jet over and help get things set at the covert.” Dirk then turned to the duchess and Obi-Wan, eyeing them appraisingly. “You two get on in the speeder. If you call the strills up, they’ll keep you warm. If you don’t mind the smell, of course,” he added with a smirk at the unenthused look on the padawan’s face. 

“Thank you, Dirk. Really,” said Satine, placing a hand on his arm before heaving herself into the speeder behind the Mando named Parj—the one with the bowcaster. Obi-Wan leapt up after her, and they took up spots on the floor, across from Parj and next to some supply crates. 

“ _K’oyacyi,_ Duchess!” Dirk gave her a nod before putting on his helmet and taking off with the other two Mandos. 

The speeder roared to life, and after the strills had jumped in, started its way in the same direction. It was slower than the jetpacks, and the wind and rain still lashed at Satine and Obi-Wan’s faces, but she was less miserable now that she was at least off of her feet and heading somewhere she knew would be warm. She reached out her hand and clucked to the strills, patting her lap with her free hand; they eagerly scuttled over to vy for her attention. 

“How do you not mind the smell?” Obi-Wan asked in a low tone even as he began to stroke the one closest to him. 

“Because I’m not a male humanoid.” She ran a hand along the side of the smaller tan-colored one, feeling the leathery folds of skin hidden under its thick fur. 

“Is that how they work?”

“Mhmm. You’re just one of the lucky members of that one demographic affected by their scent.”

“You get used to it after a day or two,” offered Parj, apparently hearing their conversation. “And at the compound you’ll acclimate even faster.”

Obi-Wan gave the golden strill, who was now attempting to lick his face as it nestled itself on his lap, a dubious look. “I see.”

Parj barked a laugh. After a few moments, he tilted his head at them and took out a flask. “Here, this’ll help warm you up, Your Grace. The strills are good, but you look like you could use all the help you can get, if you don’t mind me saying.” 

She caught it with a wry smile when he tossed it over. He had that right—her fingers were shifting from blue to a dead white color. The aroma of the flask’s contents smacked her sinuses when she unscrewed the lid, and she quickly but cautiously took a sip that made her cough the second she got it down. Whatever it was zipped through her system like wildfire itself was in her veins. It was some sort of strong alcohol, which on its own was powerful enough, but had the unique Mandalorian addition of some sort of spice blend that further fueled the burning sensation. Satine took another sip and felt a small burst of pride when she managed to get this one down with little more than a quiet clearing of her throat, which earned her an approving nod from Parj. Then, she offered it to Obi-Wan. 

He took a wiff of it and immediately turned aside to gasp at the cold rainy air. Catching sight of Parj’s helmet facing in his direction and Satine’s raised eyebrow and poorly-concealed amusement, however, he raised the flask in a sort of salute. “Well. _Oya,_ I suppose.” With grim determination, the padawan brought the flask to his lips and tipped it back the tiniest amount. Half a second later he was shoving it back into Satine’s hands, spluttering with his eyes watering. Both the duchess and Parj burst into laughter, unseating the strills who had finally made themselves comfortable lying across Satine and Obi-Wan’s laps. 

“You might know a couple of our words, _Jetii,_ but we’re gonna have to work on your heat tolerance,” said Parj. 

“I look forward to it,” croaked Obi-Wan as he slumped back against the crates and rested his hand back on the gold-furred strill. 

They lapsed into silence, and Satine watched the padawan idly out of the corner of her eye. His head was tilted so the rain fell against his rosy face, his eyes closed as if he was asleep. She didn’t fail to miss him occasionally opening his mouth to catch some of the drops, surely to soothe his still-burning tongue. With a private smile, she pulled out her cloak from the pile between her and Obi-Wan and wrapped it around her shoulders and over her head. Perhaps they really might manage to make a Mando out of this _Jetii._

* * *

Everything from the speeder ride onward passed like a blur to Obi-Wan. He and Satine had been ushered into hot showers, cocooned in clothing lended to them by various members of Clan Carid, showered with attention by even more strills, fed a hot meal, gawked at by younglings as they ate, asked question upon question, given tidbits of information, and then urged to go to bed. All the while, the Force had kept up a calming chant of _safe, safe, safe._ The behavior of Clan Carid only served to reinforce that silent message that the padawan heard. They’d all fussed over him and the duchess in a gruff sort of way, showing Satine respectful but heartfelt care and sending small jibes in his direction as he adjusted to this part of Mandalorian culture he was unfamiliar with. Rather than making him feel more the outsider, though, they managed to rib him in a way that made him feel somehow more welcome. These were good people, and as Obi-Wan deciphered throughout their conversing with the duchess, had been among those who offered _Mand’alor_ Fett and _Jorad’alor_ Kryze their allegiance from the start. 

As he sank into bed, the Jedi apprentice thanked the Force for sending them into the path of Clan Carid. He was finally feeling the weight of his exhaustion and was elated to have a real bed to rest in for the night. With a blissful sigh, he flipped over and reveled in the fact that there was a real pillow under his head. From the room next door, which was connected to his room by a short private hallway, Obi-Wan could feel the duchess’ Force signature cloud over as she fell asleep. And when he closed his eyes, the image of Satine floated to the surface of his rapidly-dwindling consciousness—that afternoon, when she was standing in the rain with rivulets of water winding their way down her curls and along her collarbone. For a moment he could feel the soft pressure of her head on his shoulder, and the tingle that sparked across his skin when her breath brushed his neck. 

Why those things were the last that crossed his mind at the end of the day was a question for another time. He was too tired to do anything more than bask in the contentment they stirred within his chest, and allow the feeling to lure him the rest of the way to sleep.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a!  
> "ba'gadet'ye" = "you're welcome"  
> "gar Jetii" = "your Jedi"  
> "ner Jetii" = "my Jedi"  
> "wayii!" = general exclamation of surprise  
> "k'oyacyi" = in this case, something along the lines of "hang in there"  
> "oya" = in this case, "cheers"
> 
> Thank you for reading, kudos-ing, and commenting!! So grateful <3


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter has a touch more angst, a touch more plot, and so on... kinda channeled my stress into writing. If you think that's gonna be a bit much to read right now, I completely understand!  
> Stay safe, y'all <3

_“Obi-Wan. Padawan, are you there? Do you copy?”_

Said Jedi padawan bolted upright, half-falling out of bed at the sound of Qui-Gon Jinn’s slightly metallic voice. He flailed about for a moment before grabbing hold of the comlink that rested on the small table beside his bed. “Master—yes—here!”

_“There you are. Are you alright? What kept you?”_

“Yes, I’m alright. I apologize, Master, I was asleep. Are you alright?” Obi-Wan scrubbed his face with a palm, then ran it up and into his shaggy hair. The adrenaline that had shot through him when he first woke was draining from his system at a rate only a hair slower than the one at which it had appeared. At least now he was remembering where he was and what had gotten him there. 

_“Heavily asleep, it would seem. I was trying to get your attention for nearly a full minute before you responded,”_ said Qui-Gon, a hint of humor in his tone. _“I am fine, thank you, Obi-Wan. I was comming you to let you know our Death Watch friends have left the planet, and it’s safe for us to regroup.”_

“Well, that’s good to hear.”

_“That’s not all, though. Is the duchess there? I have news, and it would be best if both of you heard it.”_

“She’s—” the padawan faltered, realizing he couldn’t feel the familiar constellation of her presence in the next room over. Dread started to pool in his stomach and he surged to his feet, only to sink back on the mattress again when he reached out further into the Force and felt Satine still within the covert’s confines. Judging by the lively presences around her, she was in the company of several Clan Carid Mandos. 

_“She’s_ what _, Obi-Wan?”_ Master Qui-Gon sounded urgent now. 

“She’s fine!” he said hastily. “She’s fine. She’s just, ah, not in her room.” He spotted a fresh change of clothes that someone had laid out for him and stood up again. The series of ups and downs he’d experienced in the span of less than a minute was not his preferred start to the day. Some tea or caf was much needed. 

_“Not in her room? Where is she, then?”_

“No, I think she’s in the main hall or the dining area,” said Obi-Wan, throwing on the clean clothes and padding out of his room in search of the wayward duchess. The clothing didn’t have as many layers as he was accustomed to, and fell as though they belonged to someone slightly taller and broader, but he didn’t mind. Wearing attire that he hadn’t worn several days in a row was a more than welcome change, no matter how they fit. 

_“Padawan, I think you’re neglecting some important details.”_

He definitely was, which was terribly out of character for him. Obi-Wan shook his head to try to regain some sense of his normal balance. “Right. Sorry, Master. We came across an ally clan yesterday and they took us in.” Up ahead, he could hear the coarse-sounding voices of some of their hosts, accompanied by the occasional laugh and the clatter of what he presumed to be dishes. 

_“Which clan?”_

“Clan Carid.”

 _“Good. I remember Countess Ordo mentioning them.”_ There was a brief pause before Qui-Gon continued. _“I trust you’re on your way to the duchess?”_

“Yes, Master. I’m just about… there…” The sight that met Obi-Wan drew him to a sudden stop in the entryway to the dining hall. It took a few rapid blinks before he fully processed what was going on. 

Satine stood at one end of the table, between Mairu and Dirk, a sniper rifle hefted to her shoulder as if she were preparing to shoot, and she was examining it with calculating, narrowed eyes. Her hair was noticeably shorter than it had been the night before, too: where it previously had fallen in long curls past her shoulder blades, it now cut off at her jawline while still maintaining its wavy texture. The tilt of her head and the fresh haircut also exposed the slender curve of her neck, and it took a bewildering amount of effort for Obi-Wan to look away from her. 

To her left and right, Mairu and Dirk seemed to be pointing out some of the features of the rifle and comparing it to several other different blasters that were arrayed on the table. Parj was seated a few feet down from them, drinking from a mug and watching the demonstration. Some other Mandos, some of whom Obi-Wan recognized from the previous evening, were scattered along the length of the table as well, all armored besides their helmets as they were picking at the remnants of breakfast, talking amongst themselves as they watched, too. Two younglings looked up at him from where they were sprawled on the floor playing with some of the strills, and giggled. 

At the sound of the children’s laughter, Satine lowered the rifle and glanced around, a bright smile replacing the pensive expression that had occupied her face when her eyes fell upon the padawan. “ _J_ _ate vaar’tur,_ Obi-Wan.” Her gaze traveled down to the comlink in his hand. “Is that Master Jinn?”

“Yes, he’s—”

 _“Duchess, it’s good to hear your voice,”_ said Qui-Gon just as Obi-Wan started to respond. 

“ _Mar’e!”_ exclaimed Satine. She placed the rifle back on the table and hurried over, wiping her hands on her pants. “It’s such a relief to hear from you!” Obi-Wan caught a whiff of rich spices wafting off her skin, reminding him of one of the teas they’d shared while they were still on Ordo. 

_“It’s safe for me to rejoin you, too. The hunting party left the planet for Zanbar less no more than a quarter of an hour ago. But it sounds as though Vizsla still has some plans, so the two of you should continue to exercise caution.”_

“Plans?” asked Obi-Wan. He heard Qui-Gon sigh, and could picture his master rubbing at his beard. 

_“I don’t know more than that, unfortunately. That was all I overheard from the hunters’ holocomm last night. That, and Mand’alor Fett seems to have just launched his campaign to retake Concord Dawn. There was mention of there being a disturbance there potentially requiring Death Watch forces.”_

Satine sucked in a breath, causing Obi-Wan to glance down at her. Now that she was next to him, he could see how much her cheekbones stood out and the purple rings that rested under her eyes like bruises. He frowned. 

“Very well. Thank you, Master Jinn.”

_“You’re welcome, Duchess. Obi-Wan, if you send me your coordinates—”_

“We’ll send a team to get you, _Jetii,_ ” said Dirk, stepping in to join the conversation. “It’ll be faster.”

“Master Jinn, this is Dirk Carid, of Clan Carid. He is a good friend and ally,” Satine supplied. 

_“My thanks, sir,”_ said Master Qui-Gon after a moment. _“I’ll have my padawan provide you with my comm code, and I will pass along my coordinates.”_

“ _Jate._ I’ll send along four of ours in a speeder.” Dirk motioned to Mairu, who nodded and slipped out the door. Parj also slowly took his feet off the table. 

_“Thank you. Obi-Wan, Duchess, may the Force be with you.”_

“And with you, Master,” said Obi-Wan, just before the line went dead. He then shared Qui-Gon’s code with Dirk, and the Mando followed Mairu outside. Satine wandered back to the assortment of blasters, her mouth twisted slightly to the side, which suggested she was chewing the inside of her cheek—a habit she seemed to have whenever deep in thought. 

With a yawn, Parj hauled himself out of his chair and meandered over to the cluster of Mandos. “Well, _cyare,_ ” he said, dropping his hands on the shoulders of a slightly lankier man named Odin, then dropping a kiss on Odin’s head. “Are you gonna join me for once?” 

Odin side-eyed Parj but reached up and squeezed one of Parj’s hands. “Want to help me get my things?”

“Oh, but of course.”

The pair departed and the other Mandos went back to their own conversation, paying Obi-Wan no heed when he headed over to join Satine. She was running light fingers along the barrel of the same rifle she’d been holding when he first arrived, while absentmindedly scratching the head of the large gray strill that had parked itself next to her. Most of the strills had taken a shine to the young duchess, but this one showed particular interest in her and tended to hover at her side whenever she was in its vicinity.

“So,” said Obi-Wan quietly as he came to stand next to her, “dare I ask what all this is about?” He gave the strill a reassuring pat on the head, sensing its defensiveness of the duchess at his approach. 

Satine looked up and the hint of a smile returned to her features, but he still couldn’t help feeling slightly disconcerted at the clear signs of exhaustion that marked them. “Dirk is convinced that I should expand my personal stun weapon inventory beyond just a pistol to include something with ‘more character,’ as he puts it. I’m merely humoring him. He knows my thoughts on these things.” 

Obi-Wan hummed in acknowledgement and watched as she continued to trace the side of the rifle. “I apologize for sleeping in so late. You can wake me if I do it again in the future.” 

“You needed the rest,” she said with a shrug. “And you didn’t even sleep in that late. I just happened to wake up early and couldn’t go back to sleep. There are some other early risers here, so I was able to join them here in the mess hall.”

“Was something wrong?” he asked, lowering his voice even more and casting a glance over his shoulder at the cluster of Mandos. They seemed fully engrossed in their own matters. 

“Just restless. Nothing to worry about.” 

Obi-Wan could feel that she wasn’t telling the whole truth, and was about to suggest that perhaps they go talk it over outside or somewhere private, but that plan was prevented by the arrival of Vana Rhode—one of the unofficial but undeniable authority figures in the Clan Carid compound. 

“There you are, _Jetii!_ ” she said as she burst from the doorless entryway of the kitchen with a mug of something steaming in one hand and a plate piled with food in the other. Somehow, she also was managing to keep her bucket from slipping from where it was tucked under her arm. “How’d you sleep?”

“Quite well, thank you,” said Obi-Wan with a polite smile. Vana nodded appreciatively, taking a healthy gulp from her mug and plonking herself down at the table. She took extra care when she pulled her helmet from under her arm and deposited it next to her plate. 

“You see we gave the duchess a haircut? She looks nice, huh?”

“I— yes, it’s—she looks very nice.” He glanced at Satine and gave her a small nod, and for some reason she dipped her head, her cheeks pinkening behind the much shorter curtain that her hair now offered. 

When he looked back at Vana, she was looking between them with a mysterious smile that was partially hidden by the rim of her mug. “You know,” she drawled, “I’m pretty sure that those shears are still hanging around somewhere if you want one, too.”

Obi-Wan’s hand instinctively reached up to his padawan braid, which Vana was eyeing with an almost predatory expression. Before he could respond, however, Satine beat him to it. 

“I’m sure he’ll be much happier if we don’t trim his hair. The braid is a symbol of his apprenticeship as a Jedi.”

The older woman looked slightly disgruntled. “What about that little tail at the back of his head?”

“I suspect that Obi-Wan needs that, too. Am I correct?” Satine turned to him. 

“Yes, I’m afraid so.” 

“Anyway,” the duchess continued, “his hair can easily get tucked up into a bucket without it needed to get cut, unlike mine.”

Vera made a derisive noise in the back of her throat and, apparently giving up on her goal to chop off the padawan’s hair, tucked into her breakfast. It was at that moment that Obi-Wan’s stomach decided to let out a loud growl, causing Vera to lower her spoonful of food and turn back to him with raised brows. “Go in and get some food, _Jetii_ , would you? You’re too skinny.”

“Well…” Obi-Wan rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously and coughed. “I will, thank you. I think.” That earned him another snort of amusement from the Mando. 

“Hey—you, too, Duchess,” said Vera. 

“I already ate!” Satine protested. 

“You’re a growing girl. And don’t think I didn’t see how much your ribs stick out when we were getting you sized for _beskar’gam,_ ” added Vera darkly. “Now go on. Git.”

With a deep sigh of resignation, Satine followed Obi-Wan into the empty kitchen. He gave the room a cursory sweep of his gaze and checked over his shoulder before speaking again. “Would you care to tell me what’s really going on? You look like you didn’t sleep at all last night.” 

She merely pushed past him and started filling a plate, avoiding his eyes. “You’ll need to get fitted for some _beskar’gam_ after you’re done eating. Dirk believes it would be wise if we’re able to blend in, in case we have unwelcome guests.”

“That’s good to know, but you know that’s not what I’m talking about.” 

“I told you, it’s nothing to concern yourself with,” she said firmly and shoved the now full plate into his hands. Her hard gaze dared him to keep pushing her. 

Never one to back down from a challenge, Obi-Wan pressed onward. “Will you allow me to be the judge of that for myself?”

“Look,” she said as she turned back to put a few things on her own plate. “I just had a lot on my mind and decided to stay awake. Why are you making a big deal out of this? Let’s just drop it. We have a lot to do today.”

“Satine, come on.” He tugged on her arm, placed his plate on the counter, and put his other hand on her shoulder to keep her facing him. Their faces were mere inches apart, and he could make out the pattern of freckles scattered across her nose, so faint that they were nearly invisible. “You can’t expect me not to worry about you.” Her eyes widened and she seemed, for once, at a slight loss for words. “It’s my duty to protect you.”

Whatever traces of warmth that had been in the duchess’ countenance frosted over into an unreadable mask. She gently twisted free of his grasp and stepped away to pour herself some caf. “Oh, yes. We wouldn’t want to compromise your mission.” Satine gave a laugh that sounded strangely forced and hollow. “Don’t fret, Padawan Kenobi, you are doing your duty quite admirably. I’m sorry for any distress I may have caused you. As you can see, I’m perfectly safe and sound.” She straightened, tucked her hair behind her ears, and picked up her plate and mug in an overly-precise manner. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some matters to attend to.”

“Wait—” he started, but she was already gone. His shoulders slumped. To be perfectly honest, he wasn’t sure what he had been planning to say. Or at least, he wasn’t sure how to put it into words. He was utterly perplexed about what had just occurred, but he couldn’t shake the faint stinging sense of loss, like something he’d never before known he could miss had been torn out of his chest without warning.

With a shake of his head, Obi-Wan trudged over to the pot of caf and poured himself a mug. His thoughts were too preoccupied to process the spicy notes on the steam that prickled his sinuses as he raised the mug to his lips. He took a large gulp and almost gagged, his eyes watering at the hot flavor scorching a path from his mouth to his stomach. _Kriffing Mandalorians with their kriffing heturam. What sort of sentient being decides to start their day by burning a hole in their tongue?_ He wheezed and leaned on the counter for support. This day seemed to be bent on throwing him for as many loops as possible, and he had a very bad feeling that this was only a taste of what was to come. 

*****

Satine entered Obi-Wan’s room a little less than two hours after she had stormed from his presence during breakfast. He was in the process of meditating, sitting cross-legged on the floor with his hands resting lightly on his knees. Though his eyes were closed and she had been almost silent in her approach, he could sense her presence waiting. It called to him even when she didn’t, pulling him from the web of stars that the Force laid out before him in his meditations. If Obi-Wan didn’t know any better, he could have sworn the Force was practically ushering him towards the duchess’ distinct constellation. 

However, he could also still feel that strange new wall residing between the two of them, so he decided to proceed with caution. “May I help you?” he asked cordially as he opened his eyes and got to his feet. 

“I apologize if I disrupted you,” said Satine. Her tone was polite, but unmistakably cool and distant. He noticed that she now had some sort of headband holding her hair away from her face. “The armorer has finished altering my _beskar’gam,_ and is ready to see about putting some together for you. They apparently have some extra sets that others have outgrown.”

“Ah, thank you for letting me know.” Obi-Wan pulled on his boots and allowed the duchess to go out the door ahead of him. 

“I should probably also mention that I commed Ruusaan Ordo. She would have contacted us had she known we were able to be reached safely, and she attempted to reach Jango but with everything happening on Concord Dawn… Well, anyway. She heard from your Council, and apparently Vizsla’s put a bounty out on us. So I suppose that’s his new plan.” She didn’t bother to look back at him as she spoke. 

“I… see.”

“As my protector, I thought it might be important that you know,” Satine said, again in that same neutral voice. 

Obi-Wan cleared his throat awkwardly. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

She merely hummed in acknowledgement, not breaking her stride, and he followed her lead. _A bounty? If the Council found out about it before any of us did, then it must’ve been widely posted, which means…_ Force knew how many bounty hunters they’d have coming into the sector. Maybe, if they were lucky, the bounty hunters would fight amongst themselves. But even if that did happen, it was clear that things were about to get more complicated, which made the rift that had suddenly formed between himself and the duchess that morning just that much more undesirable. Obi-Wan tried to ignore the rigid way Satine carried herself and the iciness that filled the space between them. The sound of their footsteps on the stone floor was the only noise they made the rest of the way through the halls. 

Stepping outside into the misty afternoon, the pair was approached by a large fully-armored figure who Obi-Wan identified after a moment as being Dirk Carid. He reached them in just a few long strides and guided them in the direction of the armory, a slight bounce to his step that greatly contrasted with the tension between the padawan and duchess. They passed several other Mandos of the clan, all of whom were also in their full _beskar’gam_. It was apparently the clan’s custom to be completely armored and helmeted whenever they were outside, even if still technically within the perimeter of Carid land. Better protection and anonymity, as Vana had explained to Obi-Wan over dinner the night before. 

“Got word from Mairu. She’s thinking they’ll be back with the other _Jetii_ by the end of the day tomorrow,” said Dirk, his voice slightly droid-like from the modulator of his bucket. “Assuming they don’t run into any problems.”

“Nothing’s shown up on your scanners though, right?” asked Satine. 

“For now, no. But depending on how Vizsla’s going about attracting bounty hunters, that might not be the case for long.”

So. Satine had apparently told Dirk, and potentially other members of Clan Carid, about the bounty on her head before bothering to let Obi-Wan know about it. The padawan tried to release his indignation and peculiar sense of hurt into the Force. This was fine. 

“You don’t think they managed to get tracking fobs, do you?” 

“I can’t say for sure, _Jetii,_ ” said Dirk as he glanced over in Obi-Wan’s direction. “The tech for those is still pretty new and hard to get, so I wouldn’t count on all of the _beroyase_ having ’em. If Vizsla somehow got hold of Satine’s chain code, or one of yours, though, then I’d bet he had at least a few made.”

“And if that’s the case, we’re endangering the clan by staying here,” said Satine. She came to a halt just before the door to the armory. “We ought to leave once Master Jinn is back with us.”

Dirk put a gloved hand firmly on the duchess’ back and pushed her the last few steps though the door. “We’ll discuss that when we get to it. For now, though, you’re here, and we can deal with any bounty hunters that are stupid enough to show up. Got it? You’re our _Jorad’alor,_ and it is our honor to protect you.”

Satine grumbled some response that wasn’t entirely audible, but continued into the armory all the same. As Obi-Wan walked in behind her, the hot air of the forges seared at his skin. A short Mando turned at their entrance, a set of powerful tongs in hand, and gave them a nod. “Your set is over here, _Jorad’alor,_ ” the armorer said in a rumbling baritone. He set down the tongs and picked up a neat pile instead, which he handed to Satine. Then he cocked his helmeted head to the side as he looked over Obi-Wan. “As for you, _Jetii,_ I think we can find something that works.”

Not three minutes later, Obi-Wan was standing in a skin-tight black outfit and being measured by the armorer. The material felt surprisingly durable for how flexible it was, and the padawan would have easily declared it to be comfortable had it not been for how very uncomfortable it was to have the suit display every contour of his body. He was already longing for his Jedi robes, but since those weren’t an option while he was with Clan Carid, he was looking forward to at least having the cover of _beskar_ plating. 

Behind him, he heard the door to the side room hiss open, which momentarily distracted him from the armorer’s prodding. Obi-Wan craned his neck to see Satine coming back into the main room, now clad in her own Carid armor—charcoal gray with sharp yellow detailing and a strill sigil painted on the left shoulder plate. She looked up from adjusting her gloves and surveyed him appraisingly. The tips of Obi-Wan’s ears grew rather warm and he turned to face foward once again, still feeling her eyes on his back. 

“You look very good in our _beskar’gam_ , if I do say so myself, Duchess,” said Dirk. There was a smile in his voice as he said it, but it was hard to tell behind what lay behind his bucket. That was the genius behind it, Obi-Wan reminded himself dryly. _Anonymity and mystery, indeed._

“Thank you. And, it fits perfectly,” she said as she came around to join Dirk in watching the fitting process. “You have my gratitude, Armorer Reeves.”

“Least I could do,” said Marlow Reeves gruffly. “You said you’ve got _beskar’gam_ of your own? I’d be interested to take a look if you don’t mind, _Jorad’alor._ ” 

“Not at all. I’ll go get it now.” Satine moved toward the door, but was stopped by Dirk. 

“Not without a _buy’ce_ , you won’t,” he said, tossing her a helmet. She grinned in thanks, pulled it on, and slipped out the door. Once the door had shut, Dirk reverted his attention to Obi-Wan and crossed his arms. “So. Are you gonna be able to live without having your _jetii’kad_ , or is that against your Code?”

The words of his teachers back at the Temple echoed through the padawan’s mind. _“Remember, Initiates_ — _your lightsaber is your life. It is your weapon, and it is your responsibility.”_ He also remembered a certain Pijali princess tampering with his lightsaber when he left it unattended. Clan Carid seemed trustworthy, of course, but then again, so had Princess Fanry and her guard, Captain Derren. 

“It would be best if I kept my lightsaber on me, if possible.”

“What do you think, Marlow? You got anything he could use to conceal it?”

Reeves looked over from where he was sorting through sets of chestplates. “I think we can manage that. Maybe we give him a back holster for one of his blasters, add a compartment. Shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Obi-Wan with a slight bow to the armorer. 

In response, Reeves snorted and shook his head, turning back to the _beskar_ plates and examining the different options. So far, the padawan had gotten a set of boots that fit and armor that worked for his lower body, all of which he was now wearing. His upper body evidently required a bit more effort to find something that fit well, though. 

The main door shot open—too soon for it to have been Satine returning with her armor—and Dirk whipped around to look, a hand on his blaster pistol. He instantly relaxed when a youngling trotted in. The girl took off her small bucket and looked up at Obi-Wan with curiosity in her big green eyes before climbing onto a stool to watch. It seemed that she was quite at home among the forges. 

“Knocking might be a good idea in the future, _adi’ka,_ ” said Dirk as he reached over and ruffled her hair. 

“Mister Marlow said I can come in here anytime I want if he’s here.” 

“That I did, _adi’ka,_ ” said Reeves, looking back at them again for a moment. “But Dirk has a point. You don’t want someone to think you’re an intruder.” The girl simply shrugged, apparently unbothered. 

“You’re a padawan, right?” she asked as she turned to Obi-Wan again, kicking her armored legs against the rungs of the stool. It was a marvel to see _beskar’gam_ on such a young individual. He knew it was part of the culture, much like neutral-toned robes were part of Jedi culture, but still… armor on a small child. It was certainly something. 

“Yes, I am.”

“What’s a padawan?” 

“It’s what they call _Jetii_ who are still in training, and are apprenticed to a master—a _bajura_ —until they’re seen as ready to become knights,” said Obi-Wan. The girl’s face lit up at his use of Mando’a, and he felt a small smile form on his own face. 

“You can talk like us!”

“Only a little bit, but I’m learning,” the padawan said with a laugh, shifting slightly to accommodate Reeves as the armorer expertly began fastening a suitable chestplate onto him. Obi-Wan tried not to breathe too deeply or otherwise hinder the armorer’s work by moving. “Your _Jorad’alor_ has been trying to teach me.”

The girl nodded thoughtfully. “She’s nice, I like her.” 

“So do I,” he agreed. _Although, I’m not so sure she’s fond of me right now, for whatever reason that may be._ He really would have to try to mend that gap before it caused any serious problems. Preferably before his master arrived and noticed something was wrong. 

“My name’s ‘Mirdala,’” the youngling said, pulling Obi-Wan back to the present. “Did you know what that means?”

Mirdala. Obi-Wan thought it over. He definitely could recall Satine using it before, but the context was a bit fuzzy. But then—ah, yes. It was one of the times she’d complimented him for translating something difficult. “It means ‘clever,’ am I correct?”

“Yep! My _buire_ knew I was gonna be smart.” She paused for a moment, then nodded as if deciding upon something. “You’re not bad for a _Jetii._ Even if it was your people who burned up Mandalore,” she said in that matter-of-fact manner so characteristic of younglings. 

The three men froze. Mirdala seemed blissfully unaware of how still her companions had gotten, continuing to swing her legs as she gazed around the room with mild interest. Obi-Wan felt as though he had been punched in the gut. He knew that the ancient wars between the Jedi and the Mandalorians had been intense and destructive, but were the Jedi truly the reason that several of the sector’s worlds were marred by barren land? Were the Jedi why more than a third of Concord Dawn had gotten blasted away? Were the Jedi why the planet of Mandalore—the capital world of the sector—became a toxic desert? How were they supposed to make up for this, on top of everything else?

* * *

The very intense urge to scream and start breaking things took a good deal of discipline for Bo-Katan Kryze to fight down, but she managed it. Barely. While _Kyr’tsad_ forces were getting sent in droves to the hot zones of Concord Dawn and Zanbar, she was stuck on Concordia. Where absolutely _nothing_ was happening. Her only consolation was that she would be left alone soon, and once that happened, she could rage all she wanted. 

“Don’t be so moody,” said Rook Kast from where she was checking her blasters. “Didn’t you say Lord Vizsla’s going to let you go on some secret mission or whatever if you do a good job taking care of things here?”

Bo-Katan scowled at Rook’s back. She was happy for Rook, who was excited to finally get to see some action on Zanbar, but would’ve been happier if she was getting to go, too. “Yeah, but I’m a fighter. I should be going out to, you know, _fight_.” 

Rook raised her eyebrow, casting a glance over her shoulder at the redhead who was leaning against the wall with crossed arms. “Sounds like Lord Vizsla also thinks you’ve got potential to be a captain or something, if he’s literally leaving you in charge of the entire base. Not all of us get opportunities like that.”

There _was_ that to consider. Bo-Katan tried not to wince at the jealousy that tinged Rook’s words. Rook had been part of _Kyr’tsad_ for a longer time, and it had been Rook and Pre who had suggested to her that she join in the first place. This wasn’t exactly the first time Rook had shown annoyance at how quickly Bo-Katan seemed to climb up the ranks, or how Lord Vizsla seemed to pay her extra attention. It wasn’t Bo-Katan’s fault, though—she was just good at what she did. If Lord Vizsla saw potential in her, then that was proof that she was doing things right. This was simply the natural result of all her hard work, of everything she had poured into Death Watch since she joined their ranks four years ago. She deserved to have a position of leadership at this point. 

“Time for me to head out,” said Rook with a glance at her wristcomm. She straightened, slung her rifle blaster over one shoulder and her bag over the other, and crossed over to Bo-Katan. 

“Leave some _aruetiise_ for me, yeah?” said Bo-Katan as she pushed away from the wall. 

Rook gave her a quick kiss, then pulled away with a smirk. “You bet.” She patted Bo-Katan’s cheek affectionately, perhaps with a bit more force than was strictly necessary, and walked out of the room. 

Slumping against the wall again, Bo-Katan glared around the empty chamber. It was huge that Lord Vizsla had chosen her to be the authority on Concordia, and even more promising that he was considering her for a special task force. Yet, she couldn’t help but feel a bit like she did when her father had sent her and Satine to Coruscant to “keep them safe” when the infighting between clans and the warring between the True Mandalorians and _Kyr’tsad_ had gotten more intense. It felt like she was being tucked away to be ignored. 

She shook her head violently, trying to clear those memories away. That was the past—this was a very different situation. Vizsla was giving her the chance to show her leadership. This was just one more step toward her rightful spot near the top of the hierarchy. Right from the start, Bo-Katan had demonstrated her prowess as a warrior. Then, she’d earned Lord Vizsla’s trust with the information she’d given him, and she had only continued to prove it was well-placed trust.

_“The Merricks are believed to be missing without trace, and it is imperative that we keep it that way. You understand?”_ Vizsla had told her. Given that the Merrick family was part of Clan Kryze, traditionally high-ranking advisors to the duchy leadership of the clan for generations, Bo-Katan knew he was testing her loyalty. She hadn’t let him down. Not even Rook would have been able to pry the information from her. 

She hadn’t gotten the chance to see the Merrick family in the cells on Concordia, and now they were on a ship with Lord Vizsla himself and a squad of commandos, heading for Keldabe. Back when she was a kid, she hadn’t liked the family much: Crayn and Ada’s blustering and simpering, and their son, Tal, with his whining. All the same, though, something felt off about them being here. She wasn’t sure why Tor Vizsla would bother to keep them alive, to say nothing of seeing them as in need of high levels of security. It wasn’t her concern, though—the Merricks would be moved into the prison there, and Lord Vizsla would attend to matters in the capital while he waited for the bounty hunters to catch the duchess and her _Jetiise_ protectors. 

And Bo-Katan would wait on Concordia. And try not to let her impatience get the best of her. A growl rose in the back of her throat and she spun on her heel for the door. Her hands grazed against the familiar grips of her twin pistols. The shooting range was calling her name, and she was only too willing to let it drown out her frustration and complicated thoughts.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a!  
> "date vaar'tur" = "good morning"  
> "mar'e" = "at last" (general exclamation of relief)  
> "jate" = "good"  
> "cyare" = "beloved" or "love" (pet name or term of endearment, in this use)  
> "heturam" = "mouthburn" (referring to a "sought-after state of intense burning in the mouth brought about by very spicy food" as mandoa.org puts it)  
> "beroyase" = "bounty hunters"  
> "buy'ce" = "helmet" (also referred to as a "bucket")  
> "jetii'kad" = "lightsaber"  
> "ad'ika" = "little one"  
> "bajura" = "teacher" (I kinda fudged this one, as mentioned when I first used it a few chapters ago)  
> "buire" = "parents"  
> "aruetiise" = "traitors" (in this context)
> 
> Huge huge thank you for reading, kudos-ing, and commenting <3 all are appreciated a ton!! I especially love getting to read your thoughts and comments and whatnot :) but even if you choose not to comment (which is totally valid!!) please know that your support means a lot!


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have absolutely no idea why this chapter was such a challenge to write, but I swear it was fighting me the whole time lol  
> I hope you enjoy!! Be well, y'all

_Duty._ It was a small word, but when spoken aloud, that was all it took to remind Satine of her place and everything that came with it. As the last member of her family still around, she was the duchess of Clan Kryze by default. She hadn’t been ready for it, and had never even expected it to fall to her. When it did, she hadn’t gotten the chance to fully process the series of events that forced it to happen: her mother getting shot down before Satine reached the age of 10, Bo-Katan disappearing from Coruscant in the middle of the night without a goodbye, her father and Tomar getting ambushed and murdered on what should have been a routine patrol. It got packed away in that small box at the back of her mind to be dealt with some other time.

There were too many sets of eyes on Satine for her to allow herself to open that box: the eyes of her clan that had been scattered during the incursion of Kalevala, the eyes of all the other Mandalorians who had known and respected Adonai and Hélène, the eyes of her family from wherever they rested in death. It was her duty to do right by all of them. It was her duty to speak out against those who were destroying Mandalore, to try to defend the _Mando’ade_ in the ways she knew how, even if it meant putting a target on her back. 

If she hadn’t decided to condemn Vizsla and _Kyr’tsad_ , maybe things would have been different. Maybe she would have just been another noble who chose to recognize Fett’s leadership, and therefore not so high up on the Death Watch wanted list. Maybe she would have quietly returned to Mandalore and found a home on Sundari, where the New Mandalorians had somehow managed to carve out a peaceful society and place of refuge. Or, maybe she would have spent the rest of her days on Coruscant in self-imposed exile, far away from the madness and pain her home had to offer _._

That, however, was not what had happened, and all of the choices she had made and the actions she had taken had led her to shoulder more responsibility. Now she was Duchess Satine Kryze of Kalevala, _Jorad’alor_ of Mandalore: voice of the people and top confidante to _Mand’alor_ Jango Fett of Concord Dawn and the True Mandalorians. The _Mando’ade_ needed her to represent them to Fett and even the greater galaxy, and Fett needed her for… what precisely he thought he needed her for, she still didn’t know. She knew that he had wanted Adonai or Tomar—someone who he’d known and fought with and trusted. In lieu of them, he could have anticipated Bo-Katan to be in charge as the second-born. Instead, Fett had found Adonai and Tomar laid to rest with Hélène, Bo-Katan off on her adventures with no desire to be followed, and he had been left with Satine. He could have thrown his support behind anyone, but he decided on the barely-seventeen-year-old pacifist who was sequestered away in the Core and refused to shut her mouth. 

Because of that, she had become the charge of Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn and Padawan Kenobi, which meant their lives were every bit in jeopardy as hers the moment they were assigned to protect her. Had she chosen differently, had she even changed just one thing and turned Fett down when he urged her to offer herself as a candidate for _Jorad’alor_ , that would not have been the case. The master and apprentice would have safely ensconced in the Jedi Temple, or perhaps sent on some other mission that had far less peril involved. But Satine hadn’t chosen differently, and it was the duty of Master Jinn and Obi-Wan— _Padawan Kenobi_ —to keep her alive for the duration of the latest Mandalorian conflict. They were not here out of choice but out of obligation, and it had been her choices that obligated them to be in the war-ravaged sector. They were just two more lives that were placed in her already-full hands.

_“It’s my duty to protect you,”_ he’d said. He knew what his job was, and she had to remember her own. She needed to uphold her family’s legacy, to earn the trust the people had placed in her, to help restore justice, to save as many lives as possible, to be honorable, to show strength, to survive. The Jedi were there to help her achieve those things, not to be her friends.

Yet, despite it all, she knew there was a line that she kept finding herself perilously close to blurring. They were bound together solely by their circumstances: Satine was a duchess in need of additional defense, Padawan Kenobi was a Jedi and therefore in service to those in need. It was merely a transient friendship brought about by the situation. Nothing more, nothing less. 

Or at least, that’s what Satine tried to remind herself when she accidentally met his gaze for the third time during breakfast the next morning in the mess hall. She’d overdone it with her attempt at distance, she knew—oh, _ka’ra,_ did she know it—but she didn’t know what else she could have done. That one word had made her realize all the mistakes she’d been making. The padawan had enough on his plate simply trying to keep her from getting murdered or seriously harmed, and it was unfair for her to demand more from him simply because her mind wouldn’t stop spinning and spinning with her racing thoughts or because she was getting chest pains from stress. Taking advantage of the kindness he’d shown her was something she refused to do. Besides, Satine was going to have to manage these things for herself when the fighting died down and the Jedi left. Which, she had to keep in mind, wouldn’t _happen_ if continually allowed herself to get distracted from her duty as _Jorad’alor_ by trying to invest herself in friendship that wasn’t meant to last. 

The warning signs were there: already, she’d caught her heart sputtering when it ought to be beating steadily, an unbidden smile creeping on her face when she knew his eyes were on her, an unconscious leaning towards the lilt of his voice. She refused to delve deeper, refused to acknowledge what she knew those things hinted at. If she didn’t admit it to herself then the feelings would fade, they wouldn’t be real. But denial was going to get more and more challenging the longer she kept strengthening this friendship. 

Jedi didn’t have attachments. They were taught to let go. When this war was done, Master Jinn and Padawan Kenobi would go their way and Satine would go hers. The padawan was acting as her friend because she seemed to need it. Going beyond the surface-level companionship, as she had foolishly done by sharing her pain with him and asking him to tell her about his life, wasn’t just a threat to her own focus—it was also a burden that the young Jedi did not need. 

Still, the confused wrinkle of the his brow that appeared whenever he looked at her now seemed to suggest otherwise. 

Later that morning, while in the giant room Clan Carid referred to as “the den,” she decided that her eyes had just been playing tricks on her. The padawan was fine, and any trace of hurt Satine thought she’d been seeing in his expression was nothing more than the product of her worried imaginings. His face was perfectly calm as he held himself upside down, balanced on one hand, with his left leg fully extended toward the ceiling and his right leg bent so that its foot met at his left knee. Meanwhile, he was using his free hand to reach out with the Force and, one by one, stack an assortment of stones—supplied by the small clutch of children who had formed a semi-circle around him and were watching with hushed awe. He was so gentle with the clan younglings, answering their questions with patience and letting them pull him into their little games, somehow making his interest seem genuine as he humored them. 

Just as he had with her. Nothing more, nothing less. 

_You at least owe him an explanation,_ Satine thought to herself as they aimed their blasters at the targets set up in the compound’s shooting yard. The afternoon light warmed the slightly crisp air, and it was quite pleasant if she didn’t take into account the heaviness between her and the padawan. _Just express your gratitude, and tell him you do not wish to infringe upon his kindness any longer._

The stock of her blaster rifle kicked back slightly against her shoulder, and the plasma bolt left a smoking hole on the inner ring. She’d been drawn more to the small, pistol-variety of blasters that Dirk and Mairu had shown her the day before, and had been reluctant when they tried to push her in the direction of the rifles. Then today, it took a good deal of cajoling from Dirk and Vana to get her to even test out the blaster rifle she was using. There was something about the larger blasters that felt more inherently brutal, maybe because they were so prominent and harder to hide, and it made her wary. Now, though, after trying it out, the rifle felt almost natural. Satine liked her small stun pistol, but she couldn’t deny that a stun rifle might appeal to her. 

“ _Kandosii!_ ” The shouted compliment came from several meters to Satine’s left, and up on top of the wall where Vana was perched, doing some weapon maintenance. The duchess gave a nod of thanks after remembering that she was wearing a bucket and Vana wouldn’t be able to see her smile. 

Satine turned her focus forward again, unconsciously lowering her weapon to look at her companion’s target. Obi-Wan had good aim, although his skill with a blaster paled in comparison to his strength with a lightsaber. There was a sort of elegance when he wielded that destructive weapon; it was hard to use such a word when it came to violence, but it was different when it came to the _Jetiise_ and their sabers. It seemed that way when she had watched the padawan practice his katas, anyway. 

He apparently noticed her attention, because he lowered his blaster as well and tipped his helmeted head in her direction. “If I ask you what’s going on, will you give me a real answer? Or is it better if I just don’t ask?” There was tiredness his voice.

“Yes, I…” Kriff, when had words gotten so difficult? She swallowed, sucked in a deep breath, and launched the speech that had been forming in her mind. “I want to apologize for my behavior. I’ve been rather cold toward you and I realize that it was not the best way of giving you the proper space you need. What you said yesterday reminded me of our duties, and brought to my attention the fact that you have been doing far more than your role requires of you. You have been very kind to me, and I’m very appreciative of it, but you don’t need to do that anymore. It goes beyond the expectations of your assignment and I do not wish to encumber you more than necessary. I apologize for my transgressions on that account.”

Obi-Wan stared at her for an uncomfortably long amount of time, and she wished more than anything she could see what was going on behind that T-shaped visor. It was likely that he was trying to figure out what to say—perhaps he was thrown off by her being so to-the-point about it. Satine waited and tried not to fidget. 

“I wasn’t aware I needed space,” he finally said. He carefully tucked his blaster into the back harness he’d been given and crossed his arms. 

Was that seriously all he was going to say? She’d just apologized and that was _it?_ “I’m talking about responsibility! I’ve been irresponsible, preying upon your selfless nature as a Jedi, and I refuse to do it any longer. I’m trying to say that I’m sorry.”

“Satine, what in the _blazes_ are you talking about?” Obi-Wan took half a step forward, his arms unfolding and accentuating the incredulity in his tone. She stood her ground. 

“You don’t need to constantly check on me, or stay awake with me when I’m not sleeping well, or—or look so _worried_ whenever you look at me, and it’s been unfair of me to depend on you like that!” 

“If this is a roundabout way of asking me to stop prying then just say that. You can be straightforward with me.”

“I _have_ been straightforward with you.” Satine felt like tearing her hair out. “It’s not my fault your comprehension skills are lacking.”

“Yes, because you saying that you’ve been ‘preying on my selfless nature as a Jedi’ makes _perfect_ sense _._ I have no recollection of that ever happening.”

“How else do you expect me to put it? That I’ve been imposing friendship upon you without questioning how it might burden you? That I’ve been taking advantage of your mandatory presence by distracting you from your Jedi duties, simply because I’m lonely and accustomed to the University where I have friends around me? Is that better?”

Obi-Wan leaned backward slightly at her words and once again slowly folded his arms over his chest. He simply regarded her for a few moments, but when he spoke again, the heat had left his voice. “Is that really what’s been going on? Satine, I told you that the Jedi are allowed to have friends.” At her silence, he continued. “Did you consider that maybe I genuinely enjoy talking to you and care about your well-being?”

Yes, she had. Of course she had. But this wasn’t making things any easier; he should have just stayed annoyed with her, or should have just agreed that friendship between the two of them was an unnecessary complication to their situation. It would have been better for both of them. She could feel those uncomfortably familiar feelings rising in her gut again and she shoved them down. This was not the time, nor the place, nor the person. Why couldn’t he have accepted her explanation and let it go? It was only going to make things worse, make it harder for her to deny the truth. 

If she had less of a heart, she would have found the right words to hurt him. She knew them, they were there in her mind, but Satine couldn’t force them from her mouth. Somehow, she could tell that underneath his helmet, he was looking at her with those sweet eyes of his crinkled at the edges from concern. So instead, she swallowed her better judgment and chose honesty. 

“I think you know that I have,” she said, lowering her voice and letting her ire bleed away. “I just don’t want you to be stuck. That wouldn’t be fair to you.” 

Guilt still crept through her, but it was less bitter than it would have been had she chosen cruelty. The path of kindness and authenticity was the best option, even if it meant she’d have to tread it carefully. She had to preserve a trusting relationship in order for them all to have the highest chance of survival, anyway. She would just tuck whatever complex feelings Obi-Wan roused in her away with the grief and other things she’d locked up long ago, away in that tiny box in her mind that she avoided day after day. She would be safe from them. She could do this. 

His hand came to rest on her shoulder. She refused to let it affect her. Her _beskar_ was impenetrable; it was the strongest armor the galaxy had to offer and it meant nothing could touch her.

“Satine—”

Whatever he had been about to say was cut off by a warning cry from Vana.

“Oy, we’ve got company!”

Both of them spun toward Vana, Obi-Wan taking his hand from her shoulder and reaching up for his blaster. There was the sound of a speeder engine being cut somewhere not far beyond the wall of the compound, near the entrance but beyond Satine’s line of sight. She held still, her heart hammering in her throat as she watched Vana leap down and move toward the entrance. Several members of Clan Carid were now in the doorways of the various buildings, hands resting on the blasters at their hips, but not moving forward without some sort of signal. A few of the strills, however, began prowling toward the commotion, and the large gray strill (who she had taken to calling “Prudii” given its tendencies to follow her everywhere) slunk over to her side. It was somewhat of a comfort to have the creature pressed against her, even if a low warning rumble had begun to emit from said creature. 

_Your face is hidden. You are unrecognizable. You are safe._

She felt the padawan step to her other side but couldn’t tear her eyes away from the main gate. The energy shield was off, as it always was during the day to allow the covert’s inhabitants to come and go with ease. Only when night fell was the shield activated as an additional defense to the mandatory watch on the wall. Thus unhindered, a Klatooinian and two Weequay stepped just inside the entry, all armed and likely not alone. 

_You’re in beskar’gam. You look like part of the clan. You are safe._

“Can we help you?” asked Dirk as approached the newcomers. There was menace in his movements, threat in his voice. 

“Such a welcome party. We do hope we aren’t interrupting anything.” The taller Weequay, who Satine noticed had an eyepatch, moved forward with an easy smile. “We’re just looking for a duchess. You haven’t happened to have seen her, have you? Pretty girl with blonde hair, maybe about the size of that one over there?” He gestured toward Satine and took a step in her direction. She felt her airway constrict and her grip on the blaster rifle tighten. Obi-Wan moved almost imperceptibly closer to her. 

“We haven’t seen any kriffing duchess. You think a little pacifist would come here?” said Vana as she reached Dirk’s side and cut off the Weequay. She crossed her arms, putting on display all the weapons attached to her belt. “‘ _That one over there’_ is my daughter. She and her partner over there just announced their engagement,” she jerked her head towards Satine and Obi-Wan. “We were getting ready to celebrate. So unless you were invited, which you _weren’t_ , I suggest you shove it. We don’t care much for party crashers.”

Feeling the gazes of all the bounty hunters now traveling over to where she and Obi-Wan stood, Satine tried to shift her posture to make the two of them resemble something like the engaged couple they supposedly were. She felt the padawan’s hand snake around her waist and she automatically leaned slightly into him. Heat flooded her face, and she hoped that his _Jetii_ senses wouldn’t pick up on it. She needn’t have worried about that, though—three hulking Trandoshans, each bearing a large slugthrower, came into view right behind the first trio, effectively turning her blood to ice. How many others were there? Enough for the hunters to decide to take their chances against a horde of Mandalorians?

“Our congratulations to the happy couple,” said the Weequay with an unpleasant smile before returning his attention to Dirk and Vana. “Target practice seems an interesting form of celebration. But, who am I to judge?” 

“It’s tradition. Used to hunt down people from rival clans, but we ran out of those,” said Dirk gruffly. 

“Although,” said Vana, “we could bring that back, now that you lot have so conveniently shown up. What do you think, _ad’ika?_ ” She called the last bit over her shoulder to Satine. 

It was all a bluff, but the sinister edge to the older woman’s voice almost made it seem a real part of the clan’s heritage. And as much as the idea was distasteful to her, Satine knew that now was the time to play into the ruthless, blood-lusting Mandalorian stereotypes. _You’re a Mandalorian: you know how to be both prey_ and _predator. Prove it._ She ran a hand down the length of her rifle’s barrel, giving herself a moment to pull herself together before joining in on the ruse. 

“Well,” she said in a drawl that was more sultry and high-pitched than her own voice, “Ben and I _were_ just saying how these stationary targets are too easy. Some live game would make things far more interesting.” She hated this, and she wanted to crawl out of her own skin, but still felt a tiny thrill of satisfaction when she saw the shorter Weequay and the Klatooinian glance uneasily at the shooting range’s targets. The blaster burns on them were plenty of evidence that she and “Ben” were good at finding their marks. 

The eyepatched Weequay, however, simply chuckled. “Oh, she is _feisty!_ Did you hear that Lula?” He looked back towards where they had presumably parked their speeder, and a Twi’lek woman with rosy pink skin strolled up to join him. She was picking idly at her nails with a vibroblade the length of her forearm, and seemed a little too disinterested in the entire affair for her nonchalance to be convincing. 

“I did. But it seems the little spitfire is already taken, Tav,” the Twi’lek said with a roll of her eyes. 

The Weequay slumped his shoulders theatrically, making Satine feel more and more on edge. _To be Mandalorian is to be both predator and prey_. 

“Well,” he sighed, directing his attention toward Satine again and reaching out a hand to her as if in offering, “if that engagement falls through, my saucy little spitfire, you let me know. Your boy looks a bit scrawny to me.”

“ _Usen'ye!_ ” snarled Obi-Wan, taking an aggressive step in front of her and blocking her from the Weequay’s view. She was momentarily stunned by his very convincing imitation of a defensive Mandalorian lover. That was a transformation she hadn’t seen coming. And where had he learned to say _that?_ She certainly didn’t recall teaching him that particular crude expression. 

The sound of Prudii’s echoing growl snapped her back to her senses. She put a hand on Obi-Wan’s arm, gently pulling him back to her.

“I’d recommend you do exactly as the young man says,” said Dirk, his voice still firm and dangerous as he planted himself in front of the Weequay, “and get your karking asses off our territory.”

* * *

The low hum and subtle rattling movements of the speeder as it flew across Cheravh’s terrain, paired with his less-than-adequate nights of sleep for the better part of the week, had the result of causing Qui-Gon to drift off to sleep. He was strangely at peace in the presence of these rough Mandos, trusting them enough to lower his guard around them and finally get some rest. A few months ago, he never would have expected such a thing to happen, never would have predicted that he would find a sense of ease among Mandalorians. However, there were a lot of things that he couldn’t have expected back when he was on Coruscant, trying to imagine what awaited him and his padawan on Mandalore. 

_“Su’cuy, Mairu, you there?”_ The crackling voice over the speeder’s comm stirred the Jedi master from his slumber, and he listened with closed eyes. 

“We’re here, Dirk. A little over 15 kliks out,” said Mairu from her place at the controls. Qui-Gon could feel the other Mandalorians adjusting themselves to pay attention. 

_“Jate. We’ve got some lice on the alpha strill, just a heads-up.”_

Curious.

The Jedi’s eyes opened at the restrained tension that spiked in the Force. Mairu’s back was rigid, and she nodded to the big man, Parj, who sat beside her in the passenger seat. Parj reached into the compartment by his feet, pulled out some sort of scanning tech, and began attaching it to the dashboard. To Qui-Gon’s left, the Mando who had introduced herself as Brala placed a hand on her blaster and was rising to a crouch. Odin, who was across from them, drew himself into a similar position, adjusting something on his helmet. 

“Well isn’t that a pain in the _shebs_ ,” said Mairu, matching Dirk’s conversational tone. “You need us to get more of the treatment we used last time?”

_“If it’s not too much trouble. Wouldn’t ask if the damn creature hadn’t gotten some stuck in their ears this time.”_

“Yeah, no problem. We’ll just be a bit later than planned. You could’ve told us sooner though; we passed the herb grove a good two hours ago. How long ago did you notice?”

_“I dunno, maybe around 0800 hours? Didn’t think too much about it until some of the others started scratching, too.”_

Qui-Gon checked his chrono: it was just about 1500 hours. So, either some sort of trouble had happened seven hours ago, or perhaps they were using the time as code for something specific, as well. 

“Dank farrik. Shouldn’t have let it go that long!” said Mairu. 

Brala reached under the tarp that was in the back of the speeder with them, unveiling a heavy-rotating blaster which she immediately set about equipping. 

_“My bad. In our defense, we were a bit busy here today.”_

“Yeah, yeah. We’ll let you know when we’ve got the shit we need.”

 _“Vor entye,”_ said Dirk. 

The connection cut off, and no one spoke for a few minutes. All four Carid Mandos were busily checking weapons and scanners, no direction or communication required for them to move like a well-oiled machine. Qui-Gon observed them, drawing on strength from the Force that he knew he was going to need before long. It wasn’t until he felt the Force nudge him that he finally spoke. 

“I assume your current guests have brought some unwelcome attention?” he asked mildly. 

“Seven bounty hunters, up by the ridge just north of our covert and monitoring it closely,” explained Parj, not looking up from the high-sensitivity scanner he had assembled. “We get to be the clean-up crew.”

Ah, so _that_ was what the time must have been referring to. But if using code was necessary, then that meant the intruders were potentially listening in, which meant… “And we’re assuming that they somehow won’t have scanners that will pick up on our approach?”

“They can try,” snorted Brala. “But Odin’s scrambler is pretty good. He modified it to have an incognito mode. Means whatever transport and company you’ve got in a 15-meter radius of his bucket won’t show up on scanners.”

Despite himself, Qui-Gon felt his brows raise. “Very impressive,” he said. “I suppose we’ll be making the last bit of the journey on foot so they don’t hear us?”

Another scoff from Brala. “You think we’re stupid or something?”

The Jedi decided not to respond, opting instead to bathe himself in the wellspring of the Force. He folded his long legs, closed his eyes, and took a slow, deep breath. The Mandos kept up their restless activity around him as they prepared in their own way, and he let himself become the calm eye in the storm of their movements as he prepared in his own way. 

* * *

Even though they were all safe and the strictly logical part of her mind was telling her she ought to be relieved, Satine’s pulse had yet to settle down to a normal resting rate. She was laying flat on her back in bed, trying to breathe in the soothing way Master Jinn had taught her, and it seemed to help to some degree. Her heartrate was slower than it had been, but she could feel it still keeping up a brisk pace. _Run,_ it seemed to tell her with each beat, despite the fact that she didn’t need to run or hide or fight at that moment. Master Jinn and the team that had gone to pick him up had made it back to the covert safe and sound. They were together again, and the threat of the afternoon had passed. 

The bounty hunters had been “taken care of.” She didn’t need any more details to know what that meant, although there was that childlike piece of her that wanted to believe that they’d been reasoned with and convinced to just leave. After all, they had been sentient beings, too—members of the galaxy simply trying to make a living for themselves. At the expense of her own life, perhaps, and the freedom of the _Mando’ade_ , but the point remained. How many more were going to die before this was over? How many Mandalorians, and how many off-worlders? Satine’s insides twisted uncomfortably. This ruminating wasn’t productive, but she couldn’t help it. 

On the other side of the short corridor that connected their rooms, she could hear Obi-Wan return and quietly move around his room, preparing himself for bed. He’d given her a slightly unconvinced look when she had said goodnight to everyone well over an hour ago, claiming that she was tired and going to sleep. To her relief, however, he hadn’t pressed the matter. He’d simply bid her goodnight, let her go, and currently showed no signs of checking in on her. 

She hadn’t been lying, either—she _was_ tired. Her eyelids drooped and the idea of just passing out into a dreamless sleep was a very welcome one. But it was also apparently a fantasy. Her entire body was sore, and no matter how she tried to position herself, twinging aches radiated from her hip up into her back and down along the side of her leg. The rush of her blood moving a little too fast through her veins was another tangible distraction, and all her tossing and turning was simply making it worse. And then there was her mind; despite how fatigued it was, it, too, refused to slow down. 

_Sort the thoughts, organize them so they don’t overwhelm you._ It was a technique her father had taught her some years ago to help her regain a sense of control when she felt like it was spinning away from her. Sometimes, when she was small, he used to listen and help her wade through all the things cluttering her mind. Sometimes, even when she had lived star systems away from him, and even now that she knew she’d never see him again, she imagined he was sitting next to her and talking with her like he used to. 

_One: the bounty hunters tracked me here, but without a tracking fob._ If they were the first ones to show up and they didn’t have a fob, that meant any other bounty hunters who were after her likely didn’t have tracking fobs. Odds were that Vizsla didn’t have all the biological data on her or the Jedi necessary to have any developed. That was a good thing. If they continued to stay out of Vizsla’s reach and managed to avoid his supporters, then he wouldn’t be able to get the data. Which meant they needed to keep on the move. 

_Two: those bounty hunters are almost certainly dead._ If she took her morality out of the equation and regarded it from a pragmatic standpoint, then she could see how that had been the most efficient course of action. It had eliminated the immediate threat, reduced the number of bounty hunters currently searching for her, and it meant that Clan Carid was able to function more normally without having to worry about being watched. Dirk had reassured her that he would have made a move against the _beroyase_ even if it hadn’t been about protecting her. However, that didn’t make her feel better. They were still lives that had been unnaturally ended. Who would mourn them? Who was left behind in the wake of their deaths? Wasn’t this the type of culture she was trying to break away from? 

Satine felt her pulse quicken as her thoughts spiraled, and she sucked in a breath. _“It seems that one is still a bit fresh,”_ her father used to tell her when he could see she was getting distressed. _“Now that we’ve looked at it and acknowledged its presence, why don’t we move on to something else? We can come back to that idea when you have some more distance and won’t get stuck there.”_ She slowly let out the breath and rolled onto her side. Time to place that thought in its section and move to a less upsetting one. 

_Three: Vana seems a little too pleased with her cover story._ The woman had practically crowed over it when others had asked how they’d gotten the bounty hunters to leave. And, when Satine had pulled her aside and fixed her with an unimpressed glare as she asked for a reason, Vana had simply shrugged and said that Satine and Obi-Wan seemed enough like lovebirds that it would be a convincing guise for the pair. Since then, she’d been looking between the two of them with a smug expression. It was embarrassing, and perhaps a bit vexing, but then again, Satine couldn’t deny that she hadn’t exactly minded having his arm around her waist…

Better to not explore that line of thinking any further. She packed it away and looked to the next. 

_Four: part of you didn’t hate sounding dangerous earlier._ It had felt like putting on a coat that belonged to her, but that she rarely wore. She was used to the political arena, where battles were fought with words and non-violent action, and there was a powerful feeling that came with that. People saw her as a force to be reckoned with. But rarely did they see her as _lethal,_ as they seemed to view most Mandalorians. Two of those bounty hunters had, though, and that was a different sort of power she wasn’t used to feeling. A wicked piece of her had reveled in it even while every other fiber of her being rebelled against it. 

At least she hadn’t actually harmed them—it had all just been part of the game of survival, a false persona that would keep her alive. That had to count for something. She hadn’t compromised her morals in that regard. Instead, she’d simply lied and pretended to be something she wasn’t. 

_Kriff, give yourself some slack, kid,_ said a voice in her mind that sounded uncannily like Jango. _Nobody’s a saint. You’re doing you’re best, and you’re no good to anyone if you’re dead._

Jango… That was another point of concern. 

_Five: Fett is trying to free Concord Dawn and Ruusaan says there hasn’t been much news._ That was to be expected. If the fighting had escalated as Ruusaan had been led to believe, then it would be difficult for information to get sent out. Satine knew Jango was more than likely fine. But what about everyone else? If things were tense on Concord Dawn, shouldn’t she be there trying to help? It didn’t feel right to stay so far away, doing nothing. Maybe she wouldn’t be much for the actual fighting, but what about taking care of the wounded, or helping protect civilians caught in the crossfire? She ought to be with the people who needed her, ought to be standing with them and hearing what they had to say, ought to be advocating for them. 

Leaving for Concord Dawn would have the additional benefits of keeping her on the move and relieving Clan Carid of the burden of her and the Jedi’s presence. _But,_ she realized as she flipped onto her back once more, _you don’t want to risk interfering with Jango’s plans and accidentally cause more harm than good._ Maybe he was still trying to keep things relatively underground, and her arrival would blow the cover. Satine puffed out an impatient breath; the “not knowing” stage was her least favorite. 

_Six: you can’t stay here any longer._ Stability was a luxury that she and her Jedi protectors didn’t have. Vizsla may have opted to put a bounty on their heads rather than keep sending his own forces to try to catch them, but that didn’t mean they were any safer. That afternoon was proof enough. Satine was going to have to decide on their next destination. The thought of going to meet with allies was appealing, yet at the same time, she didn’t want to risk people’s lives with her presence in their homes. Then again, traipsing about territories that were in full support of _Kyr’tsad_ wasn’t a wise move, either. 

She ground her teeth as she rolled over again, kicking her legs free from the tight tangle of blankets she’d created with her constant moving. Maybe some of the clans on less prominent worlds and moons would be good options, like Clan Carid had been. She tried to remember their allies and make a mental list as she stared at the blinking green light of her comlink in her otherwise dark room. Maybe there were options on Draboon, or Bonagal, or even Tracyn. Or, perhaps there were possibilities on the moons near Concord Dawn if she didn’t dare go too close to the current conflict but still wanted to connect with the people. Her brow furrowed as she pondered over it, wondering if she was just bringing herself into yet another dead end. Then she froze. 

Her comlink, which was being used solely for communications in the network of the restoration movement, was blinking. Which meant someone had sent a transmission. 

She threw herself out of bed and grabbed her comlink, ignoring the blood pounding in her ears and the trembling of her fingers as she typed in her code to view the message. A tiny holographic image of Ennan flickered to life, crouched and looking over her shoulder. Despite the commotion of noises in the background of the hologram, her voice was clear: 

_“This is Ennan Motira of Clan Ordo with a message for all members of the alliance under Mand’alor Fett and Jorad’alor Kryze. Our campaign on Concord Dawn has turned into a full-blown battle, and Kyr’tsad is flying in reinforcements. We will soon be outnumbered. If you can spare forces, now is the time.”_

Satine turned, and without needing a single moment to think it over, sprinted for the neighboring bedroom.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a!  
> "kandosii" = "nice one" (in this context)  
> "prudii" = "shadow"  
> "ad'ika" = affectionate title for a child (or one's own son or daughter)  
> "usen'ye" = soooo Mandoa.org says it's a very rude way of saying "go away" which I take to mean something along the lines of "fuck off" (pardon my French... er, Mando'a)  
> "su'cuy" = "hi" or "hey"  
> "shebs" = "butt" or "ass"  
> "vor entye" = "thank you"  
> "beroyase" = "bounty hunters"
> 
> Huge thank you for reading, kudos-ing, and commenting!!!! Thank you thank you <3


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I would just like to first off formally apologize for taking SO LONG to update!! Life got busy, but I am more on top of things now and hoping that that will be the longest stretch between updates.  
> Thank y'all for your patience and support!!
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter!

The ground trembled as a rocket made contact with the base of the foothills, illuminating the dark field with a bright explosion of light and filling the air with even more smoke. Bolts of blue and red plasma flashed through the haze as well, the sound of blasters mingling with the shouting and the clanging of metal. It was night, maybe even the early hours of the morning; Jango couldn’t tell. He’d launched the preliminary scattered ambushes days ago, but once _Kyr’tsad_ started fighting back and the conflict went out into the open, he lost any sense of time. It could have been minutes, hours, or days—all he knew was to keep fighting. 

And fight he did. His instincts, honed to a professional level back in the days he was with Jaster Mereel and the True Mandalorians, came to life in the field of combat. It felt like it had been a lifetime since he had last fought alongside a team rather than on his own, yet it all returned to him as if it had been just yesterday: the curt directives over the helmet comms, the unconscious ability to tell friend from foe, the unspoken communications, the movement in packs. He barely felt the impact of the blasterfire when it ricocheted off his _beskar’gam_ as he charged forward, barely noted each _Kyr’tsad_ fighter he felled. There was no need to pause and think before striking out. Jango’s weapons were just another extension of himself, and he was the most lethal weapon of them all. 

“ _Mand’alor!_ Get down!” Strong hands dragged him to the ground behind an overturned harvester as another rocket streaked just past where he had been standing. 

“ _Vor’e_ ,” he said to Ja’kad, slumping himself up against the harvester. “Any luck with reinforcements? We sure as hell could use ‘em about now.”

She swung her helmeted head around to look at him. “Ennan says some got here, fighting up by her position on the ridge. Too many of our allies have their own shit to defend though.”

“ _Osik._ ” Jango let his head fall back and a soft clang came from the collision of _beskar_ with the metal of the harvester. He’d known this wasn’t going to be easy, but he hadn’t expected _Kyr’tsad_ to respond so quickly—hadn’t anticipated them to get any messages off-world as soon as they had. Somehow, though, they’d managed it. The “how” didn’t matter. All that mattered was continuing to fight. There was no turning back now. 

Jango pushed himself up, checked the flamethrower mounted on his wrist, and went back out into the fray. 

*****

Dawn bled over the horizon, a thin line of crimson making a gash through the night. Its light glinted off the _beskar’gam_ of Mandos, not discriminating between those who were alive and those who were dead. Jango tried not to think about how many of the bodies on the ground were on his side. He was grateful that at least it was still too dark to fully make them out. This had to be over soon, and hopefully end in a victory over Vizsla. He wanted no sacrifices to be in vain. 

Over the din of the battle, there was a low hum, steadily growing louder, and the _Mand’alor_ froze. Several others did too, turning their heads to look up into the sky that still mostly resembled night. _Kriff, not more Kyr’tsad forces..._

The noise grew louder, and gradually he was able to make out the vague shapes of what seemed to be three gunship-sized crafts as well as a fighter-sized one approaching the field. Jango ducked behind one of the makeshift barriers they’d formed the day before, and toggled the sensors of his visor to try to get a clearer view of the ships through the darkness, the morning mist, and the smog from the fighting. It was hard to tell what side the vessels belonged to, but they didn’t look like they belonged to _Kyr’tsad._ However, he wasn’t interested in taking chances. 

“Anyone got a read on those ships?” he shouted over the comm channel, not taking his eyes off the ships as they grew ever-nearer. There was static for a few moments. 

_“Let ‘em land!”_ shouted Ennan. _“They’re for us!”_ A few Mandos acknowledged the command over the channel, followed by a few cheers as several figures deployed themselves from the ships using jetpacks. Then—

 _“Copaani gaan, Mand’alor?”_ The polished voice was almost calm as it came through the comm in his bucket. 

_No fucking way…_ But sure enough, the view of Jango’s visor picked up on the figures standing just inside the open door of the gunship as it began to land. The nightvision allowed him to see one in a half-kneel wielding what seemed to be a sniper rifle, much like the one Adonai used to use. She was flanked by two robed figures—a tall one on the right and a shorter one on the left. The tell-tale rings of a stun blast left the rifle, once, twice, and a third time down into the battlefield laid out below the ship. In perfect synchronization, the figure to the right ignited a brilliant green lightsaber just as the one on the left ignited one blue like lightning. 

Duchess Satine Kryze and her _Jetii_ had come to fight. 

“I’m not even going to ask what you’re doing here,” said Jango, flipping the comm so it was a private channel between himself and Satine. “And I can’t say I like it. But we did need the help. _Vor entye,_ Duchess.”

“ _Ba’gedet’ye_.” 

The smaller figure, the one with the blue _jetii’kad_ , leaped from the gunship while it was still several meters off the ground. Jango watched as the padawan turned over in a graceful arc, landed on his feet, and immediately began deflecting blasterfire. The boy was joined soon after by the duchess and the older _Jetii_ , and that was when Jango made himself turn his back to the spectacle. 

_This isn’t like Galidraan. They’re on our side this time._

Three steps later, and the _Mand’alor_ was once again in action.

*****

Somehow, between the reinforcements and the reinvigoration their arrival brought to every single soldier, they were finally winning. Vizsla’s troops were actually beginning to give way under the pressure, and it was looking less and less like two immovable forces locked in stalemate. More of the bodies, some dead and some still likely alive but not getting up, that were scattered across the field had the sigil of the shriek-hawk on their _beskar’gam._ The _Kyr’tsad_ warriors who remained kept fighting, but were not-so-subtly looking for a way out. Jango could tell by the way they were gravitating towards one another and constantly taking backward steps. Like womp rats escaping a flood.

And somehow—Jango wasn’t sure he _wanted_ to know how or why—Satine and the younger _Jetii_ had wound up by him, fighting by his side as they pushed _Kyr’tsad_ into gradual retreat. Master Jinn wasn’t too far away either, but Jango was less concerned about him. The duchess, on the other hand… what the hell did she think she was doing this far up? She was a kriffing _pacifist!_ He already felt uneasy about her being on the front at all, because it would be one thing if just one of them died but if both of them died... well, the entire sector was kriffed. 

Although, he had to admit: her aim was impressive. And she seemed very comfortable switching between her blaster pistol and the rifle, from what he’d noticed. At least she hadn’t been up with him when the fighting was more intense. Satine also had the additional protection of the _Jetii_ , who was quite the asset. His lightsaber was a blur of motion, and the kid himself was agile and had the potential to be downright deadly, if he hadn’t been holding back—perhaps on the duchess’ behalf. Despite Jango’s focus on finishing this battle, he didn’t miss how Satine would drop down to check on various fallen warriors, and how the _Jetii_ padawan never strayed far from her. 

Jango yanked back, freeing his whipcord from the fallen _Kyr’tsad_ Mando, and fired one of his pistols at another who was charging in his direction. These, he figured, were the loyal remnants—the ones who would rather die than be taken captive or return to Vizsla after losing. That was something that he could respect. Or he would have, if their loyalty hadn’t been so fiercely devoted to a group like _Kyr’tsad._ He had no remorse about letting them die. 

A plsama bolt struck his pauldron and he whipped around to find the assailant. Another bolt glanced off his _beskar_ chestplate before Jango locked in on his target: a large Mando with a sniper rifle that was decidedly not a stun blaster like Satine’s. Jango dodged the next bolt of plasma by ducking into a crouch, rolled away, and fired from the ground. It struck the _Kyr’tsad_ warrior in the gap between plating on her shoulder, causing her to stagger back a step, but that didn’t deter her for long. The Mando started running toward Jango now, replacing the rifle with a pistol in one hand and a vibroblade dagger in the other. Just as the vibroblade left the Mando’s hand in a sloppy attempt to hit the _Mand’alor_ , Jango fired again, this time striking the gap in the _beskar’gam_ by the left hip, and again to scorch a hole in the Mando’s now-empty hand. Even as she began to crumple to the ground, she pulled the trigger of her blaster pistol and managed to shoot him. 

It struck the edge of a plate on his arm, barely singeing the fabric underneath. 

Jango propelled himself up and forward. Within a few quick strides, he reached the Mando, kicked the pistol out of her hand, shoved his boot against her helmet, and—with his eyes set on finding all the gaps in the _beskar’gam_ —managed to get one shot off before he heard the _Jetii_ padawan shout something. The _Mand’alor_ looked up sharply and saw the young man shoving Satine away with the Force and dashing in his direction, still yelling and deflecting blasterfire with his lightsaber as he ran. 

“ _Mand’alor,_ move!” 

Jango glanced down to where the _Jetii_ was gesturing just in time to watch the Mando’s thumb press the button on an incendiary device. He felt himself get wrenched off his feet and flung backwards, barely a heartbeat before the device detonated. 

* * *

“ _No!_ ” 

Satine wasn’t sure if it was her who screamed or if it was someone else. The explosion had blasted out a crater where Jango had been standing not a moment ago. Where Obi-Wan had been heading. 

Now the _Mand’alor_ was hidden by the flames and smoke—perhaps dead or grievously injured and she _couldn’t see him_ _to make sure he was okay_ —and the padawan was on the ground a few meters away from her. Ash was drifting to the ground like snowflakes, landing on her armor and dusting Obi-Wan’s robes as if in some sick imitation of a peaceful scene on Krownest.

She couldn’t move, couldn’t _think_. She could only stare in horror at Obi-Wan’s body and pray that he would get up. The thought that she might have lost him… 

She couldn’t go there. 

Everything felt muted, slow. Her rattled bones refused to shift so she could run to him, her eyes refused to blink, her lungs refused to breathe. She was frozen in place: a statue witness to destruction. 

Then Obi-Wan moved, and whatever invisible vice had held Satine in its grip let her go. He pushed himself off the ground, his stumbling quickly transitioning into his regular sure-footed sprint, carrying him past the fire to beyond where she could see. 

Her body kicked back to life, and she took off after him.

* * *

The momentum with which Jango slammed into the ground was enough to dislocate his right shoulder with a sickening ‘pop’ that he felt more than heard. His vision was blurry—he couldn’t tell if it was his visor or his eyes or both, but he was almost certain he had blacked out for a moment. He could make out a flickering orange blob that had to be the source of the searing heat he felt, and a dark shape moving in front of it and growing nearer. Then someone was gripping his good arm and pulling it over their shoulders to bear his weight. Naturally, Jango tried to pull himself free, which was difficult when it felt as though the ground was tilting below him and he couldn’t see what was going on. 

“Beg your pardon, _Mand’alor_ ,” came the Core-accented voice that Jango took a moment to place as belonging to the younger _Jetii_ , “but I wouldn’t recommend that as the best course of action.”

So, the duchess’ protector had decided to extend his services to include protecting the _Mand’alor_ , as well. That was an interesting turn of events. 

Jango allowed the padawan to lead him… wherever the kid was leading him, which presumably was somewhere out of the open. His brain needed a few moments to work through its current daze, anyway. Everything had happened too quickly. One moment he’d been about to finish off the _Kyr’tsad_ fighter, then the next the _Jetii_ was yelling something and Satine had gone flying—

He stopped in his tracks, forcing the padawan to come to an abrupt halt as well. “Where’s the duchess? Did you leave her?” It felt as though his words and his voice were detached from his body. 

“She’s safe, I promise—”

“ _Vaii?_ ” Jango demanded again. He started to turn back, despite the fact that he still couldn’t see anything properly and he could feel himself staggering. The only reason he’d allowed the kriffing _Jetiise_ to get involved was to defend the _Jorad’alor_ from harm, and if they’d failed on that front—

“Jango!” There was a soft crunching as she approached, and within a few seconds, he felt her gingerly prod at his dislocated arm. “We’ll need to get you to a medic. Obi-Wan, get him down behind the barrier, will you?”

Relief washed through Jango, followed by a wave of exhaustion. How long had he been fighting, again? And when had he stopped moving? 

“Of course. _Mand’alor?_ ” said the padawan. He got hold of Jango, led him a few steps back in what must have been the original direction they’d been going, and eased the Mandalorian to the ground. “ _Udesii._ ”

The kid might’ve sounded like a full-blooded Mando had it not been for the lingering Coruscanti inflection. Jango was mildly impressed. He was, however, grateful that the _Jetii_ didn’t feel the need to talk as they waited for the duchess to return with a medic. The thought of inane chatter was enough to make his head pound. 

“Here they come,” the kid said after a couple minutes. Jango started to rise, with some difficulty that he hoped wasn’t obvious. 

“With all respect, _Mand’alor_ , sit your kriffing ass back down,” came an unfamiliar voice. Jango stopped the effort of trying to get himself into a standing position, but he didn’t sit down either. Through the haziness of his vision, he could make out a taller figure next to the shorter one he could tell was Satine. 

“Funny way to show respect,” he said, as Satine drew nearer and gently pushed him back down. 

The stranger just gave a dry laugh. “Hear that slurring, Duchess?”

“How could I miss it? We’ll need to get his bucket off.” She adjusted herself so she was kneeling next to Jango, and began the delicate process of removing his helmet. It seemed to get stuck a couple times, causing his head to be slightly jostled, but she managed to lift it off without too much trouble from what he could tell. “ _Mand’alor_ , this is Arahn Beroya. He’s a _baar’ur_ for the Journeyman Protectors.”

Jango squinted at the medic, and was relieved to find that his eyesight was much better without the visor, even if still a bit fuzzy at the edges. His eyes also seemed very intent on closing, as if the world was too much to take in all at once. He summoned every ounce of willpower he had left and forced them to stay open and alert.

Arahn tipped his helmeted head to the side a bit, nodded to himself, then knelt down. He pulled off his bucket to reveal a set of gleaming indigo-hued eyes and a chiseled face that was a few shades darker than Jango’s own. “I’d say it’s nice to meet you, but you’re looking pretty unpleasant at the moment,” he said in a conversational, almost flippant tone. “Nothing a bit of bacta won’t fix, though. And I see that dislocated shoulder you were telling me about, Duchess. Should be easy to pop back into place.”

“ _Vor entye,_ Arahn.” 

“Of course, Duchess. _Mand’alor_ , if you’ll just move forward a bit so I can get a look at your head,” said Arahn, not bothering to wait for Jango but simply moving to his side and pushing him lightly away from the wall of the barrier. “Ah, that’s a good one there. No wonder your bucket’s all kriffed up.”

Arahn’s poking around brought about a stinging feeling in the right side of Jango’s head, and he tried not to wince in response to the pain or the news about his helmet. He didn’t completely succeed on that front. His effort earned him an unimpressed look and raised brow from the medic. 

“Try not to move too much. You’ve likely got a concussion,” said Satine in a calm, directive manner. It was naggingly reminiscent of the voices Jango had heard during his few times in medical facilities. 

“No ‘likely’ about it, Duchess,” said Arahn with a shake of his head. “He’s definitely got one. Now, _Mand’alor_ , if you’ll hold still,” he continued with an unmistakable reprimand to his tone, “I can get bacta on the wound to treat both it and the concussion.” 

Jango stared at the medic with what felt like his signature hard, inscrutible look, but he didn’t bother trying to move or argue. The sooner he got this taken care of, the sooner he’d get to return to the fight. Much to his relief, Arahn worked efficiently. Jango barely had time to blink before he felt the bacta get sprayed on his head and a patch deftly taped over the wound. It must have been particularly potent bacta, too, because already he was feeling the foggy pressure in his skull begin to dissipate and the sting on his scalp ease. 

His vision, too, began to clear. Now that he wasn’t in the middle of fighting or trying to deal with damaged eyesight, Jango was able to notice the duchess’ bucket—which he realized as he looked at her definitely hadn’t been part of the _beskar’gam_ made for her on Ordo. Someone had made it to compliment the rest of her armor, though. And that person had paid attention to details. Instead of a regular T-visor, it was shaped to look like the face of an owl just like all helmets of those belonging to Clan Kryze, and the framing around the visor had a pattern of peace lilies carved into it. _Jate_ , Jango thought to himself. Someone had thought to honor her in this way, which meant she was still being held in high regard, _and_ she was being given gifts that would further earn her visibility and respect as a leader. With this _beskar’gam_ , she was unmistakably a true Mandalorian. It would be much more difficult for people to question her dedication and respect for her heritage with this visible proof. 

“That should be all set,” said Arahn, rocking back slightly on his heels and giving Jango some much-appreciated space. “Time for the shoulder. _Jorad’alor, Jetii,_ if you’d be willing to hold our esteemed _Mand’alor_ steady?”

“I don’t need—”

He was cut off by Arahn popping his arm back into the socket. Both teens reflexively tightened their holds on Jango at the sudden movement, then carefully let go once they were sure it was set. 

The shoulder didn’t feel wonderful, but at least it was back where it was supposed to be. Jango bent his elbow experimentally before attempting anything further. Deeming it functional enough, he rose to his full height. His body and mind were undeniably tired, but he’d also suffered worse. He’d had six years of pain and exhaustion with little respite—six years of learning what it meant to endure. This? This was nothing in comparison. “ _Vor’e_ , Beroya,” he said, offering a hand down to the medic in gratitude.

Rather than accept the gesture by clasping Jango’s forearm, Arahn got to his feet with remarkable speed and crossed his arms. His height advantage meant he was able to look down at Jango in a way that felt borderline condescending. Past Mandalorian rulers might have viewed such impertinence as more than enough cause for immediate, unceremonious execution. “I’ve still got to get bacta on your shoulder and put you in a sling.”

“And _I’ve_ got a battle to finish,” said Jango. “The _Mand’alor_ doesn’t leave a fight.”

Beroya scoffed and looked like he was about to say something else, but Satine beat him to it. “You didn’t leave the fight, _Mand’alor._ But _Kyr’tsad_ did,” she said, stepping forward. “Davin was on the comm channel while you were getting treated. He said his squad is just chasing down the last of them.” At Jango’s silence, she took another cautious step towards him and clasped his good shoulder. “There’s no one left for us to fight here. You freed Concord Dawn—the people here can breathe more easily, now. They can start to rebuild.”

He looked out across the remains of what once was a wheat field, now littered with bodies and charred patches and ruined farm equipment and abandoned weapons. Some people were wandering around, scavenging or checking on bodies, some of them helping comrades limp back to the emergency medical tent they’d set up the night before. It wasn’t a pretty sight. The late morning sun only accentuated just how hideous the aftermath was. 

But they had won _._ That was the first step. Concord Dawn _would_ rebuild, and become even stronger. 

* * *

Hearing stories of Fett’s dominance in the battlefield, as Satine had while growing up on Kalevala, turned out to be a far cry from actually witnessing it for herself. It made her realize just how easy he had gone on her during their training sessions, just how much he had been restraining himself. Those sessions had been mere child’s play compared to this. 

What she had seen that morning was something out of the legends of old Mandalore, as if warriors of the past had all possessed Jango’s body. He’d been ruthless: pushing himself ever onward toward some goal only he seemed to see, cutting down every _Kyr’tsad_ commando in his path with an unsettling brutal grace. It was that part of him that had honestly frightened her a bit, making her heart clench with a chill that contrasted with the fire running through her veins and lungs. 

Yet, that wasn’t all that she had seen in him. Jango had fought with purpose, not just with the unchecked vengeance of one who was out for blood. Given all that he had gone through due to _Kyr’tsad_ , he easily could have been such a creature of pure revenge, and Satine might have even understood if that had happened. He’d told her more about the past six years of his life than he told most others, but she knew that it hardly scratched the surface of what he’d experienced. There was no denying that he had suffered greatly. His adamant reticence on the matter was evidence enough, especially when accompanied by that haunted, distant look in his eye he often got, or the unconcious clenching of his fists and tensing of his muscles. 

Maybe it would have been permissible, then, for a person in his shoes to think only of themselves when fighting against the very organization that was the source of their pain. Many people in his situation would do just that—they’d go headlong to exact revenge by any and all means necessary, with only their own interests in mind and little regard for those who were trying to fight alongside them. Satine had heard far too many stories of such things happening. They all ended in devastation. 

Jango… he had been different. There was obviously his own vendetta, of course, but it had so clearly been about more than just him and his personal justice. It had been about the people he was fighting for. The people _they_ were fighting for. 

Watching the _Mand’alor_ in action—real life-or-death action, not just their training—made Satine understand parts of his character that she couldn’t have started to comprehend solely from their conversations over the past several months. 

It was this attempt at reconciling the various fractures of Jango Fett that had been laid out before her that kept Satine’s mind busy as she wandered about the remnants of the battlefield. That was the only way she could keep herself numb to the injuries and death she saw around her. Or at least, as numb as was possible while also trying to be comforting and strong as she waited with the wounded for medics. She felt like she was being sucked dry, but still not pouring out enough. Part of her just wanted to offer herself up and let them all consume her, to let them all take and take and take to heal their bodies and souls until she had nothing more she could give. 

“Satine?” Master Jinn’s large hand was gentle but heavy as it came to rest on her shoulder, startling her. She pulled her gaze from the latest of the Mandos to be carried away from her on a stretcher and looked up into the tall Jedi’s face. From the way he was peering into hers, she had a feeling that it might have been helpful to have left her helmet on so he couldn’t read her so easily. Then again, he probably could have sensed her emotions, but she would have liked it to be at least a little more challenging. She wondered what he was seeing in her expression that was making his brows knit together like that, or use her name rather than her title. He only did that when he was under the impression that she needed some form of comfort. 

“Yes?” 

“You should have some water,” he said, handing her a canteen. “You’ve been at this for a while.”

She accepted the canteen with a nod of thanks, and took a sip before answering. “And others have been fighting through the night and need more rest than I do right now.”

“Perhaps. Obi-Wan mentioned that you didn’t get much in the way of rest last night, however.”

“Well he only knows that because he didn’t get much sleep either, and I don’t see you hovering around him,” she said impatiently. The Jedi merely raised his eyebrows at her in a mild manner and tucked the canteen away without uttering a word when she passed it back to him. She went on hurriedly, trying to banish the warmth in her cheeks. “We stayed up for a while talking, I mean. Anyway, Master Jinn, if this is a roundabout way of asking me if I’m alright then I’ll just stop you right there: I am quite alright, thank you. But there are many people who are not and I need to help them. So, if you don’t mind, I am going to do just that.”

“I would hardly keep you from providing aid for your people,” said Master Jinn as he fell into step with her. Apparently he was not at all thrown off by her abrupt turn or her brisk, newly-invigorated pace. Satine felt a little bad for snapping at him, but also a touch irritated with him and didn’t really feel like saying anything else. Maybe he could feel her regret for using a sharp tone, and maybe he could feel that she was, deep down, grateful to have him taking the time to care for her as a parent might. “And as for Obi-Wan,” he continued, his voice still neutral, “I trust him to recognize and acknowledge his limits.”

Satine barely managed to conceal her snort with a cough, which earned her a sharp look from the Jedi master. She doubted that even if Obi-Wan recognized and acknowledged his limits, he’d see them as anything other than a challenge to be overcome. Surely Master Jinn had to know that better than she did. However, she also hadn’t seen the padawan in quite a while now, so maybe he _had_ gone to rest for a while. Maybe. 

She dismissed that notion as soon as it came to her. More likely, he was off somewhere over the ridge and tending to the wounded who were furthest away from the main camp, trying to carry as many people on his shoulders as he could. 

“And you don’t extend that same trust to me, Master Jinn?” she finally said, keeping her tone cool and her focus forward to scan for anyone on the ground. 

“It took some time before I gave my padawan my trust in that area of his life, Duchess, and you have at least as much of a proclivity toward stubbornness as he does. However, as a Jedi, Obi-Wan is at a phase in his training where he must continue developing that self-awareness on his own with minimal guidance from me.” He stopped walking and fixed her with a discerning gaze that she had no choice but to meet. “Tell me, what have you done to earn my trust in this regard?”

Satine didn’t answer, but looked away and continued her search. 

*****

Eventually, once she was satisfied that the wounded on both sides were receiving proper care and the dead were being cleared away respectfully, Satine collapsed onto a cot and fell into a dreamless sleep. She awoke hours later to the sound of bustling outside her tent. Conversations overlapped one another and were further muddled by the occasional bark of laughter, the clatter and scraping of metal, the popping from what had to be a campfire, and what sounded like… music? 

Blinking the drowsiness from her eyes, she pulled on clothes that were more proper for being in public, and slipped through the flap of her tent. Night was falling, soft and velvety as if to atone for the bloody harshness of the day’s dawn. A bonfire had been started and people gathered in haphazard clumps around it, some of them eating or drinking. From where she stood, Satine could just make out cooking pots on the other side of the fire where people were dishing up bowls. When she looked to her left, she could see that some of her fellow Mandos had indeed pulled out some instruments and were emitting random notes and rhythms—she thought she might have heard a few snatches of songs thrown in here and there as well. 

“Ah, there you are, Duchess!” said Vana, who was striding in her direction with a broad grin. “Let’s get you some food, eh?” The older woman seemed to still be in most of her _beskar’gam_ , besides her helmet and gloves, and Satine noticed that she had a bottle of _tihaar_ in her hand. Unfortunately, Satine wasn’t able to distance herself from the rather strong fumes on Vana’s breath, as Vana had successfully clamped an arm around the duchess’ shoulders and was practically marching her over to the far side of the bonfire. Before she knew it, Satine had a warm bowl of _tiingilar_ in her hands and was breathing in the spicy steam that curled up from the stew. 

She took a bite and closed her eyes as the rich flavor filled her senses. Whoever had made this had captured a perfect blend of spices; the heat was comforting, familiar. When she opened her eyes, she instinctively glanced about to try to find Obi-Wan to see how he was faring with the dish. She could imagine him trying to politely cover up his watering eyes and coughing fits as the stew blistered his sinuses. 

It took a few moments, but she spotted him seated on some crates a few meters away, the firelight casting strange illuminations and shadows over him. As she might have predicted, the padawan had drawn a small clutch of Mandalorians who were watching him with amusement while they ate and talked together. 

“How are you enjoying your first ever bowl of _tiingilar,_ Padawan Kenobi?” Satine called out in greeting as she moved towards the group. 

Obi-Wan raised his eyes—which did, in fact, look like they were tearing up just a bit—to meet hers and smiled. “It certainly is a memorable experience, Your Grace.”

“How diplomatic,” she said as the others in the group laughed. 

“He’ll get there eventually,” said Parj with a wink, taking a large spoonful of his own stew. “Once his mouth cools down a bit we’ll be having him try some of the _tihaar_.”

“The full Mandalorian experience,” Odin said wryly. 

Satine arched a brow. “I hope you’ll at least give him some sort of warning for what to expect?”

“Oh of course, Duchess! We wouldn’t dream of letting an unsuspecting _Jetii’ka_ down some _tihaar_ without the proper preparation.” Parj’s grin was all but devilish now, and Satine couldn’t help but shake her head and laugh.

“Yeah,” said Brala. “Don’t want to risk having him spit it out and waste any.” Parj and Odin both snorted at that, and even the padawan gave a rueful half-smile. 

Parj leaned over and clapped Obi-Wan on the shoulder. “He’ll be fine, he seems like a tough enough kid.” Obi-Wan looked a little dubious, but he seemed resigned to his fate and tucked back into his food good-naturedly. 

It was hard to put her finger on what, precisely, it was, but there was something that made Satine’s chest swell ever so slightly at how her people—especially Clan Carid—were so bent on welcoming the padawan into the fold and to see him amiably going along with them in return. There was something just so natural to see him sitting among them right now in the dusk, so comfortably as if the _Jetii_ and the _Mando’ade_ had always been allies. Maybe that was what the future could look like. 

“Duchess Satine!” At the sound of the voice she vaguely recognized, Satine turned to see Cort Davin walking towards them.

“Yes?”

“The _Mand’alor_ is looking for you. Now that people are settled, he thinks it’s time to honor the dead.”

Right. The smile on her face and the warm, homey feeling in the atmosphere both faded as she recalled that this victory had come with a price. Satine nodded once, raised her chin, and followed Davin. 

*****

After the speeches and the toasts and the raising of voices that blended into one voice to remember those who had died in the fight— _“Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc. Ni partayli, gar darasuum”_ —they all shed their somber grief in celebration of what had been gained. Lively music filled the night and people began to talk to one another again, some even struck up dancing to match the songs. 

Satine, her head contentedly fuzzy from _tihaar_ , found herself drawn into the crowd and being twirled about from person to person. Despite years filled with lack of practice, the steps of each traditional Mandalorian dance came back to her as if she’d never left her home at all. She leaped, spun, grasped hands and waists and shoulders just like everyone else in the strange line between graceful art and hand-to-hand combat that marked Mandalorian dances. It was fiery, aggressive, and breathtakingly beautiful all at once; she felt herself get swept away. 

Through the movement and bodies, she could see Vana and a few others with Obi-Wan; she only got a glimpse, just enough to see them moving slowly and Vana putting Obi-Wan’s hand on her waist to match how she gripped his, before she was turned once again back to her partner. 

Time passed in vibrant heartbeats, with sparks from the fire drifting up to join the stars and the music smoothly shifting between songs. Satine could feel herself laughing and smiling, in a pleasantly blurry way that made her more exhilirated than she could ever recall. For once, thoughts of what the next day would bring were far from her mind. She was reveling in the simple marvel of being _alive_. 

Parj flung her away from him, then caught her hand just before she was out of reach to twirl her back against him. Her turn to release and catch was next, though they had to drop one another’s hands when he turned, due to his height. They stepped together, sashayed, tried to remember the Mando’a lyrics that accompanied the song. While successful on the first two fronts, the third resulted in a good deal of humming with the occasional shouted word and helpless giggling. They were both, Satine registered in the very tiny part of her brain that was actively thinking at that moment, rather buzzed. 

That part of her mind also noticed that Parj was glancing over his shoulder and there was a glint in his eye that could perhaps have been considered mischivous, but she wasn’t quite _there_ enough to think about it. 

“Ready?” he said. He shifted his hand slightly on her hip so that it was planted more against her back. 

“Ready for what?” she asked, mirth still lacing her voice despite her confusion. Rather than answer, Parj let go of her hand and with a forceful push, sent her spinning far from him with no sign of reeling her back.

Light flickered and figures blurred before her eyes. She felt weightless, deliriously lighthearted, even as she tried to stop her momentum and regain her footing. The world was all sparkling and golden hues and sweet air. Nothing could touch her—she was floating, flying, _soaring._

Her body slowed, but she didn’t lower her arms from where they were curved and extended outwards like wings. Everything seemed to pause with her for a moment, waiting with baited breath. The air around her hummed as though the buzzing in her senses had spread to her skin, where even then it couldn’t be contained. 

And then, just when electified anticipation for the unknown felt as though it would consume her, Obi-Wan stumbled into her arms.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mando'a!  
> "vor'e" = "thanks"  
> "copaani gaan?" = "need a hand?"  
> "vor entye" = "thank you"  
> "ba'gadet'ye" = "you're welcome"  
> "Jetii'kad" = "lightsaber"  
> "vaii?" = "where?"  
> "udesii" = "relax" or "take it easy"  
> "baar'ur" = "medic"  
> "jate" = "good"  
> "tihaar" = a strong clear-hued alcoholic spirit made from fruit (I'm gonna assume at least for this pic that it's a popular drink in the Mandalore sector)  
> "tiingilar" = *very* spicy and hearty Mandalorian stew (or sometimes casserole?) made with meat and vegetables and, of course, a blend of (hot) spices  
> "Jetii'ka" = "little Jedi"  
> "Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc. Ni partayli, gar darasuum” = technically a daily remembrance for the dead in which you list the names of loved ones who have passed away; translates to "I'm still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal" followed by the names of the dead
> 
> HUGE thank you for reading, kudos-ing, and commenting!!


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